Gunpowder and Lead, and Zombies
by President Raggy
Summary: AU with some Resident Evil 5 characters thrown in - after a strange virus sweeps Washington, DC few survivors remain. Santana, Brittany, Quinn and Rachel team up with Chris, Sheva, Josh and Jill to help fight the zombies. Brittana and Faberry; Jill/Sheva.
1. Chapter 1

July 2016

Washington, DC

Sweat dripped down Chris Redfield's face, into his eyes, across his cheeks. His mouth was dry and tasted like a mixture of dust and blood. He hadn't really eaten in two days, hadn't slept in almost three.

But when there were fucking _zombies_ along the streets of Washington, DC, one of the best fighters in the world didn't get to take any fucking _naps._

Right now, Chris was running. Over twenty years fighting bioterrorism and he had gotten good at running. Running, shooting, and looking out for his partner. He had only ever had two mission partners over the years, and he was damn lucky they were both with him now.

Sheva Alomar. An agent from the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance (BSAA)'s West Africa division, she had accompanied him in 2009 on a mission in Kijuju. An old nemesis, Albert Wesker, was planning to turn the entire world into some sort of selection experiment. If they survived being hit with the Uroboros virus, they would be some new breed of superhuman. If not, well, they all turned to quick-running, gun-shooting zombies.

He and Sheva had wrapped that up nicely with a big fucking bow, but not before they had saved Chris's old partner, and closest friend, Jill Valentine.

He and Jill had been through a lot together. They had worked together in the Raccoon City Police Department's STARS (Special Tactics and Rescue Service) division fifteen years ago, and she had helped him start the BSAA. He thought he had lost her to Wesker twice – once, when she and Wesker both fell out a window as Jill was saving Chris. And once, when Wesker had taken Jill over with a mind control device, only three years ago.

Chris and Sheva had saved her. And with the help of Josh Stone, who was Sheva's old mentor, Jill escaped and then arrived _just_ in time to pick Chris and Sheva up from almost certain destruction.

In the game of survival, there were a lot of times when you just realized how damn lucky you were to have people around you.

The only people around Chris right now were undead, but there was a certain familiarity in that as he ran to their home base – the heavily gated, now-devoid White House. He had to admit, in his 43 years of life, he never imagined he would be inside that building…let alone inside it while preparing to overtake a zombie horde. But here he was, as if nothing had really changed since his last big mission in 2012. In a way, it hadn't. Sure, his brown hair was fading to gray and there were more wrinkles around his piercing blue eyes. But he still walked the same, talked the same, shot the same. Even dressed the same: green BSAA t-shirt, khaki cargo pants, black combat boots, and green melee vest. Though he had wielded many guns over the years, his favorite was still the Samurai Edge handgun.

No, the only thing different about Chris Redfield was the mission he was on.

When scientists announced last year that they had created a strain of avian flu that could effectively wipe out a population in a matter of _months_, they should have been more careful about whom they gave that knowledge to.

And when that lethal strain arrived in Washington for people to study, Chris and his team arrived right behind it, ready for the worst.

Conservative senators had roared for the virus to be destroyed. Liberal ones wanted more testing, more research, so a cure could be made in case the knowledge got out. President Obama spent his days talking with scientists and researchers, figuring out _what to do_.

Ultimately, as it was with any fucking government decision, they all took too long. Someone broke in to the Carnegie Institute for Science, where the virus was being held, and took it to an undisclosed location. While the government scrambled to find it, and people scrambled to get out of Washington, whoever had taken it made some modifications.

And so, that hot June, when a mysterious flu began sweeping the city…

Chris, Jill, Sheva and Josh had been holed up in a hotel, watching the news. The breaking story about this new disease had put fear in the pit of their stomachs, and they had decided at once to travel to DC and check it out. They didn't wait for the BSAA to order them around. They just went for it, and were now the only BSAA agents in the city.

None of them were sure what this flu was capable of. But whoever had designed it made sure that when people died of the flu, they didn't _stay dead_.

No matter how many rounds of training the US Army had, nothing quite prepared them for the remorseless, unfeeling, unceasing willpower of a group of the undead.

Now, a month later, the city was a ghost town. Most had fled. Those who didn't were in hiding, being picked off one by one, or maybe getting lucky and finding refuge somewhere. Chris didn't know, but he hoped the people still in the city were safe. More and more infected people seemed to turn up every day, lumbering through the streets in search of living flesh.

Most of the living people that the team had found were now in the White House with them. Among them was a young man named Jeffrey, who was studying biochemical engineering at American University, and was desperately looking for a cure, an antidote, a vaccine, _something_. The only thing he had was a few textbooks and a printout of the virus's chemical makeup.

But to effectively find a way to fight the sickness, they needed the _actual_ virus.

So, Chris was now carrying a small laboratory with him that he had taken from the campus of American U. Vials, syringes, test tubes. Some random chemicals. A Bunsen burner. A microscope. Safety goggles. And a dissection kit, because the only way to get the virus was to take blood from one of the infected.

He was half a mile from the White House, running over rooftops to avoid any more collisions with the dead down below, when his phone rang.

He had turned his radio off just in case anyone would broadcast over it and risk alerting the zombies, so the only way for the rest of the team to reach him was his phone. Still, there was a moment of panic in his heart. No one called him because they wanted to just fucking_ talk_. They called him because something was urgent.

And this wasn't an iPhone or a BlackBerry. It was a BSAA-issued machine, capable of video chat and the uploading, downloading, and transfer of files. He was lucky he wasn't with AT&T or Verizon or any of the mainstream networks, because their lines had gone down weeks ago.

"Is everything okay?" were the first words out of his mouth as he pressed the green button. The picture on the screen came slowly into focus. It was Sheva, and Josh was right behind her.

"Chris," she said, her slightly accented voice tinged with excitement. "Turn on your radio. Someone found our channel and they're looking for survivors."

"It sounds like a bunch of women!" Josh boomed. While Sheva's South African accent could have been mistaken for an English one, there was no mistaking Josh's loud voice as belonging to a man from West Africa. "We wanted your go-ahead before we contacted them," he continued. "Jill is trying to trace their location."

"I'm not getting anything yet, Chris," came the third voice from offscreen.

Chris furrowed his brow as he thought. Survivors? Trying to contact other people? Clearly they were far more capable than the scared, clueless people they had run into so far. But if they were US government, Chris wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. He paused to take his last sip of water as he pondered.

The last people they found had tried to kill them. A small group of survivors, mostly middle-aged men, had taken refuge in a hotel near Capitol Hill. Chris and Josh had been hunting for supplies when they were surrounded by armed strangers. It had taken all of their diplomatic skills (and then a few shows of force) to get away.

"All right," he said, his deep voice thoughtful. "Let me see."

He clicked on his radio, and immediately heard a calm female voice.

"…still here in an apartment by Dupont Circle; we're doing okay but we're low on food and ammo."

_Ammo?_ Chris thought. _And radios that can reach our channel? Who are these people?_

"We have a vehicle but it's almost out of gas, and we're running low on food. If there's anyone out there, please respond. Maybe we can help each other." A pause, then she began speaking again, her voice sounding weary. She must have been relaying this message for hours over different channels. "Is anyone out there? We're broadcasting over every channel we can find. One of us is a police trainee, so we have access to these radios and to weapons. We're fighting every zombie we can find, but we know we can't fight forever. We're still here in an apartment…"

The radio was muted from Chris's end, so they couldn't hear his heavy breathing as he listened, sweat still dripping down his back.

"Sheva, they don't sound like they're US government," he said into his phone.

"I know, but can we risk more liabilities? We have so many people here as it is."

"I don't know. But they have weapons, too. They can help us fight this thing. More people get infected every day! And I don't want to leave their lives to chance if they are innocent."

"It's your call, Chris," Jill said calmly. He sighed, looking around instinctively for any sign of movement on the other rooftops. The last thing he needed was a horde to find him.

Could these people help in the fight?

"I'll talk to them," he said.

Chris took a breath and pressed the speaker button, watching on his phone screen as Sheva and Josh walked over to where Jill was sitting by the radio.

"Hello, we can hear you."

He heard some rustling over the air and another voice in the background.

"Hello?" The same voice again. "We're here, are you in Washington?"

"Yeah," Chris replied, unsure of how much to divulge to these strangers. "A group of us are trying to kill as many of these creatures as we can, and we have some other survivors. Are you doing all right?"

"We're fine," the woman said. "We're running short on supplies though and we've raided everything we can find in a mile radius. It's too risky to travel too far. One of us has a pretty bad sprained ankle, but we need to stick together as a team, so she goes wherever the rest of us do."

"Okay," Chris said, his mind running through every possible pro and con of identifying himself to these people. "How many of you are there?"

"Four."

"Are any of you military?"

A burst of laughter from over the radio, and another voice cut in – sharper, but still sounding exhausted. "Military, are you serious? You think any of them are still holed up here in DC? The government made sure to get them out safely, didn't give a fuck about civilians. No, we're four 21-year-old women with a decent accuracy level, a few guns, and a lot of fucking luck. And we need some help, so if you're out here fighting these things, too, we should join up."

Chris rarely smiled anymore, but he couldn't help allowing his lips to turn up slightly at this young woman's sass.

"Hold on a minute," he said, and muted his speaker. Three sets of eyes stared at him from the phone as he wiped his forehead.

"What do you think?" Sheva asked. Chris sighed.

"We're going to run low on options for easy food and water access. But these people need help. They're in this with us; they're fighting too. They don't sound like they're going to be any trouble or anything." His team had encountered several gangs of young people who were aggressively looting stores and other people for money and weapons. But the two girls he spoke to didn't sound like they had some hidden agenda. They just sounded tired, like their fight was running out. Even as he thought, he heard them discussing something quietly. They sounded…desperate, a little. But seemed resilient. They were fighters.

Chris knew that one person could make the difference between life and death. Maybe having these women with them could give them the edge.

He nodded to Sheva. "I'm going to see where we can meet them," he said, and turned his radio on.

"All right," he said to the women on the other end. "Do you know where the White House is?"

The sharp voice again. "What the hell kind of red-blooded Americans would we be if we didn't know that?"

"Santana, come on," came the first voice.

"All right, sorry," said Santana. "But yeah. We know where it is. We can make it there by car. Is that where you want us to meet you?"

"…no," Chris said. "I'm sorry, we can't risk you driving right up to the gate." He thought for a moment of a better spot. "You can park a block or so away, at the ABA law library, and I can meet you there. But if the infected hear your vehicle, they'll come right up to the noise."

The first woman spoke again, as two other voices began talking excitedly in the background. "…I suppose that makes sense. All right, we can be there in half an hour. I'll keep the radio on."

"All right," he said, and muted the speaker again.

"Looks like I'll be a little later with these supplies than I thought," he said to Sheva. "Tell Jeff to hold on. I'm going to go pick up some reinforcements."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey y'all! Thanks to everyone who is checking out this story. It's definitely a different turn from some of the other fanfics out there. I was inspired by "Better Run, Outrun My Gun" when I read it, and who better to pair with Glee characters than Resident Evil people? Sorry if my portrayals of DC are inaccurate…I'm relying on old tourist memories and Google Maps to paint the layout for you.

Thanks for reading!

-Raggy

* * *

><p>Dupont Circle, where these people were coming from, was only six or seven blocks from the White House.<p>

But when there were zombies covering the streets, six or seven blocks could be an insurmountable distance.

Chris pulled his binoculars out and began scanning the streets as he walked. He was still north of the rendezvous point; American University, where he had picked up the chemistry supplies, was about five miles northwest of the White House. He could easily make it to the library if he didn't run into any snags.

Or zombies.

It was hard to tell where the hordes would be. The electrical security systems in the White House ensured that the zombies stayed off the gates and far away from the building. Besides, the smell of living flesh didn't carry from the house itself all the way across the lawn, so the living dead probably didn't even know anyone was in there.

Which, of course, was good. Until the power reserves ran out, they would be safe.

There wasn't much for the undead to eat in the areas surrounding the White House. Most of the zombies could be found wandering aimlessly, or congregating in areas that were usually well-populated, such as the National Mall or the universities. Chris's trip to American U was _supposed_ to have been an easy one-man trip, but he had tripped a security system and alerted a group of zombies.

Hence all the running and roof-climbing.

He stood on the roof of the American Bar Association law library and surveyed the streets. Ten minutes until these young women would be meeting him, and he needed to make sure they all would be safe. A few of the undead were roaming the sidewalks. He could hear their low, toneless moans even from his perch on the yellow roof.

Theoretically, his four new companions could park by the library. They would simply have to run down I Street, and then to 15th Street until they reached Pennsylvania Avenue and the White House gate.

Theoretically.

"All right," he said into the radio. "I'm here on the roof of the ABA law library. I'm in green, so please don't shoot me."

Santana's voice came through again. "We found a few of the undead, so we're swinging around another way. Is the road clear to the right of the building?"

"Yeah, you're all set," Chris said.

Ten minutes later, the humming of a motor announced their presence. The grey Jeep pulled over to the side of the building and four people got out – two of them blonde, and two with a medium complexion and dark hair. The taller dark-haired woman raised the walkie-talkie to her lips.

"You're up there, right?" Okay, that woman was Santana.

"Yeah, I'm coming." He sprinted across the roof and began climbing down, using the window ledges as props to support his legs. But he was only halfway down when one of the girls screamed – the shorter, dark-haired one apparently looked like a tasty snack to a zombie that was hanging out in the shadows of the building, and now had her shoulders in its putrid hands.

Chris pressed himself against the side of the building for support and pulled out his handgun. "You other three! Don't move!" he roared, and expertly placed two bullets in the creature's head. It released the woman, but as it fell he saw three more sets of hands reaching from the alcove in the building. The one who had just been grabbed retreated, face pale, against the back of the car as she reached for a handgun at her side. Santana and the shorter blonde women had their weapons ready, and their guns echoed in the still air as they pounded bullets into the zombies.

"Nice shot, Q!" Santana yelled as she clapped her friend on the back.

The taller blonde woman shouted something, and they both turned – a group of about five zombies were lumbering slowly up to them, attracted by the noise of the car and now the shooting. Chris was almost to the ground, and fell the last ten feet. He rolled to a stop and sprang up, running over to the four of them.

"Hey!" he said. "We can take these five down but more are definitely going to come. Do you have everything you need out of your vehicle?"

"Yeah," the woman called Q said, brushing choppy blonde hair away from her eyes. "Santana may need help if we're making a run for it."

"Fuck off, I'm fine."

"She's got a sprained ankle," the taller blonde piped in, eyes still locked on the approaching creatures.

"We should start moving," Chris said. "Leave the car but take the keys. We never know when we'll need it."

As he glanced to the left and right, he saw a few more shuffling creatures approaching them. "We should go!" he said, more urgently, and began walking briskly towards the White House. The four women behind him followed his steps, with Santana leaning heavily on the taller blonde woman for support.

"Josh, we're coming in and we've got a few on our tail," he said into his radio as they ran along the gate outside the White House. "I'm taking them in the front entrance."

"Copy that," came the reply. "I'm on the lawn now and I'm searching the area. Watch out as you near 15th Street and G Street; it looks like there's quite a few over there."

"All right, we'll try not to attract too much attention," said Chris, right as a loud "_FUCK!_" came from behind him.

He whipped around, gun pointed - Santana was on the ground, swearing, as the tall blonde tried to help her back up.

"This fucking ankle! FUCK!"

"Keep your voice down!" Chris hissed, warily watching the small crowd of zombies behind them grow closer and closer. He could hear their ragged breathing. "Oh…come here!" He ran over to her, bent, and picked her up. "We can take care of the ankle at our base, but we need to go!" Ignoring her swearing, he moved her body so that she was clinging to his neck with her arms and had her legs wrapped around his waist – this way, both his hands were free.

"I feel like a toddler!" she complained, though she was holding on to him tightly, her head resting on his shoulder.

"I feel like a pack horse," Chris retorted as he took off towards Pennsylvania Avenue, the medical supplies in his backpack bouncing. The other women kept pace with him, guns drawn, as the moaning undead behind them shuffled as quickly as possible towards their prey. "Look out, we've got some company at the end of this block!"

About fifteen zombies were milling in the street in front of them. Fifteen wasn't anything that five of them couldn't manage, but they needed to dispatch this group quickly before the ones behind them caught up.

"Hold on, Santana," he said in her ear as he pulled out his Samurai Edge, holding it in both hands for extra support as he aimed. Even at fifty feet, his aim was almost perfect. Six shots, five zombies with bullets in their brains. The other ten slowly registered that living, breathing people were running at them and began shuffling down the street.

Gunshots rang out from behind him, and a few more fell as his new comrades took aim and fired.

The final zombie got five feet from Chris and took a bullet straight through the eyes.

Even with Santana on his front, Chris had enough muscle to jump over a few putrid bodies and continue his run to the White House.

"Come on, you're safe!" Josh said as he stood at the open gate, eyes locked on the still-walking zombies. Once the other three women were inside, Josh stepped onto the street and calmly blasted the creatures with his rifle from twenty-five yards out.

"We can burn the bodies later," Chris said. "I want to get these four settled, and get the supplies to Jeffrey." Santana thanked him gruffly as she detached herself from his front and stood. The taller blonde woman moved instantly to help her walk across the White House lawn.

The usually luscious grass was withered by the hot sun. The fountain had dried up, long ago, and the gardens that Michelle Obama once tended so carefully were overrun with weeds.

Inside, the house still remained austere and beautiful, though some portraits and pieces of furniture were collecting dust. Many offices had been converted into bedrooms or supply stations, and the library now had more medical and chemical supplies than books. Josh took Chris's backpack from and headed off in the direction of the library, and Chris led the way to the West Wing.

Where the Cabinet had once gathered around a large wooden table, Jill had set up a communications center and meeting place for their team, with an extensive collection of audio and video equipment that they had gathered. Several large maps of the DC area hung on the wall, and the team had carefully labeled important information onto them. On one map, the team had labeled stores that they searched through for food and ammunition – too many stores close by had been crossed out, labeled barren of anything usable. Another map listed routes around the city. Some roads were blocked off by wrecked cars, collapsed buildings, etc. and it was imperative to know the quickest and safest routes of the city. Yet another map marked where the team knew survivors were living. A fourth map was used for labeling buildings where the team had found weapons or radio supplies.

It was here that Chris led their new allies. Jill was checking the security cameras, and Sheva was cleaning her SIG-Sauer P226 handgun, boots propped up on the desk. Both rose to greet Chris as he entered.

"They're here safely," he said, motioning for the four young women to sit. They all took a chair across from Chris's two partners.

"Where's Josh?" asked Sheva.

"He took the equipment I found to the library so Jeff can start working on it." Chris took five bottles of water out of the mini-fridge and collapsed into one of the chairs as he rolled them across the table to the four strangers. "I got to the university without much of a problem, but I set off one of their security systems and got the attention of some of the undead."

"Are you hurt?" asked Jill, sizing him up with a glance.

"No, I'm fine." He had sustained a sizable cut on his leg from when he fell on some broken glass, but he'd patch that up later.

Jill rolled her eyes.

"He's good at bravado, ladies," she said to the four across the table. They smiled shyly. "Well, I'm Jill Valentine and this is Sheva Alomar. Josh Stone was the man who met you at the gate, and you met Chris already."

"Not by name," Santana said. "Though now we know. I was beginning to call you Indiana Jones in my head."

"I'm Chris Redfield." Josh appeared in the doorway. "And that's Josh."

"How's it going, ladies?" the dark-skinned man asked, a big grin on his face.

"Pleased to meet you," said the shorter dark-haired woman, who had not really spoken up much yet. As Chris studied them, he realized how odd of a group the eight of them were – three tall, blonde, pale women; three shorter, dark-haired, medium-complected women… and then the two guys. One white, with thick brown hair fading to grey. One with dark skin and a completely bald head. Chris and Josh were definitely the odd ones out.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a full introduction," Chris said darkly. "I just wanted to make sure we were all safe before I started the pleasantries."

"No worries," Santana said. "Well, I'm Santana Lopez. This lovely lady," she motioned to the taller, long-haired blonde next to her, "is Brittany Pierce. Quinn Fabray is that other blonde over there, and the Jewish midget's name is Rachel Berry."

"Pleased to finally meet you," Chris said, a touch of irony in his deep voice.

"How did you all end up here?" Sheva asked, the words laced with curiosity. Brittany leaned over to Santana and whispered something, and the dark-haired woman grinned.

"Brittany wants to know if you're from England."

Sheva laughed. "No, but my father was from South Africa, and they were colonized by the English. Explains how Josh and I are from the same region, but we have different accents."

"I like mine a lot better," Josh piped up.

Brittany smiled and nodded.

"All right," Santana said as she took a swig of water. "Well, we've all know each other for a long time. We went to school together in Ohio."

Chris frowned. "I wasn't aware there was any kind of training school in Ohio."

"No, not anything like that. Plain old civilian high school. We were all in Glee club together and graduated in 2012." She grinned. "Honestly, navigating the drama that we were all embroiled in seems to be a lot harder than fighting zombies." Quinn snorted at this.

"That's an understatement."

"But how did you end up in DC?" Sheva asked.

"Right," Santana continued. "Well, we all went separate places for college. Rachel in New York for musical theatre. Quinn at Yale for drama and political science. Brittany at Gallaudet here in DC for dance, and me at George Washington for law." She squeezed Brittany's hand. "The two of us had to go somewhere where we weren't treated like second-class citizens and could finally tie the knot." She inclined her head at Quinn and Rachel. "Those two haven't quite made it to the knot-tying, but they're into the sheet-tangling stage."

Both of them blushed furiously, but Chris could see they were holding hands under the table. Santana grinned impishly.

"They love me. But it was pure accident that we were all here at the same time. Quinn and Rach were here visiting, taking a mini-vacation before Rachel started on Broadway and Q was off to grad school. Britt was going to stay on as a dance instructor at Gallaudet, and I've been in police academy for a few months." She shrugged. "As far as the virus? Well, as a law student, I read a lot. Q and I have been keeping our eyes on this virus thing for a long time. We figured it was a matter of time…" she trailed off, brown eyes thoughtful. "Now we're here. Surviving. It's not like we can really get out of the city…"

Chris shook himself mentally. Damn. His four new comrades were a married couple and a not-quite-there couple. One Broadway star in the making, one grad school student, one dance instructor, one cop. Four women whose lives had been upset by the virus, but who were hell-bent on surviving.

"Well," he remarked. "I don't know about my three comrades here but I feel like I'm a boring old man compared to the four of you. But let me tell you a little bit about the BSAA…"


	3. Chapter 3

Jill and Sheva showed the younger women to some makeshift bedrooms along the West Wing.

"Sorry there isn't much else," Jill said as they entered a mostly empty room. "We have extra sleeping bags and I'm sure there are some clothes that would fit you."

"This is great," Quinn said, running a hand through her choppy blonde hair. "Thank you."

Jill hesitated for a second before asking, "Are these two rooms okay? I figured the married couple would want a room, but…"

Quinn smiled at her and wrapped an arm around Rachel's waist. "We'll take a room together, too. Thank you, Jill."

"We really appreciate your hospitality," Rachel said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her brown eyes. Jill could hardly believe that this quiet young woman was about to be on Broadway before all this happened. Weren't theatre folks supposed to be loud and take-charge?

Still, she figured that the past few months had been life-altering for the young actress. No doubt she was shaken up.

Brittany seemed quiet, too, but Santana probably did most of the talking for her.

They were a strange group of people, but who was Jill to judge?

"I'm glad we found them," she remarked to Sheva as the pair of them headed back down the hall.

"So am I. I think they could be a serious asset. And they needed some help, too."

They were back in the Cabinet room. Chris was hastily devouring a peanut butter sandwich and a bowl of soup.

"I think we need to go for more supplies," Josh said as they entered. "Especially with four more mouths to feed." He pushed his chair away from the maps that he had been studying. "It will give us an opportunity to take some blood samples from the zombies for Jeff's research. I think he has everything set up."

Jill nodded. "Sheva and I can go. We'll take the new recruits."

Chris looked up. "You sure?"

"Hey, you can't do everything," she said, lightly punching his arm. "You need to rest. If they want to come, they can. If not, Sheva and I should be just fine by ourselves."

Josh nodded. "Take a few extra guns with you. Having another few eyes may help. Just don't let any of them ruin those pretty faces."

Jill snorted, but knew he was right. They had acquired four _beautiful_ young women – though, somewhat unfortunately, they already seemed to be paired off with one another. Sheva caught her eye and winked. She had been thinking the same thing.

It almost sounded like a bad joke. _Two straight guys and six LGBT women walk into the White House…_

Of course, she didn't want to assume any of the new four were lesbians; they could be bisexual, which meant Josh wouldn't have to feel so depressed. Personally, Jill had only ever _dated_ men, and she knew she was attracted to them, but she found a different satisfaction in the beds of women.

And the reason Sheva knew what Jill had been thinking was that the two of them had shared a bed for reasons other than limited sleeping space since they met seven years ago. What had started as lust had peaked, simmered down and turned into a mutual reliance, one for the other, and a deep connection that went beyond being battle partners. After seven years, they could hardly be considered mere _friends_.

The lust was still there, of course, but they had it under a stronger control now. Their missions mattered, and they had to be entirely focused. Now, though the mission seemed simple, it was crucial: find supplies, bring them back, don't get killed.

A small cabinet held most of their weapons and ammo, which had been taken from the police station and collected from various other places. Sheva and Jill had identical Sig handguns at their waists, and long knives strapped around their backs. Sheva took her assault rifle, and Jill a VZ61 machine gun. The blonde woman also took two standard-issue Glocks for whomever would be accompanying them.

"We'll be on the lookout for ammo, but this map doesn't show that there would be any stores out there," she said as she loaded the smaller handguns and grabbed a can of gasoline to burn the dead bodies outside the gate. "Don't worry. We'll be back soon."

The new girls, as Jill had been referring to these women in her head, were folding what few clothes they had into filing cabinets and stocking their supplies by the window.

"I'll add sleeping bags to our shopping list," she called by way of greeting. "Sheva and I are taking motorcycles east into Maryland so we can look for more supplies. There are some areas we haven't looked into, yet. It could be dangerous, but there's room for two…and we can always use help. Anyone in?"

Santana's hand shot up, followed closely by Quinn's. Jill smiled.

"All right, ladies. We'll roll out."

Sheva and Jill walked the motorcycles down the pathway, followed closely by Santana and Quinn. The roads right outside the White House were clear, save for the pile of stinking corpses laying right where Josh had shot them. Quinn suppressed a shiver. Even after months in the city, they still scared her. She had seen too many people attacked by these things. So much blood. Even with this new Glock at her hip, she didn't feel entirely safe.

Santana stood by her side, as she always had, and put on a tough face. But the tight grip that the Latina had on her own handgun and the way she had grown even more protective of Brittany indicated how frightened she was, too. Santana was more protective of all of them, even of Rachel, these days.

They all looked out for each other. And now, Quinn was tentatively putting her hopes with these people. Professional zombie fighters with a good survival plan? She could go for that. They seemed nice, if a little cautious, and had been willing to accept the four of them into their group. She and Santana now looked the part, in borrowed clothes from Jill and Sheva. Green t-shirts and cargo pants, with black boots and utility belts. They even had BSAA backpacks, and Santana's dark hair was swept up under a green hat. Each had a helmet in hand – safety protocols for motorcycles still took precedence when zombies were roaming the streets.

They looked the part. Now they just had to act the part. Quinn took a deep breath as Jill shut the gate behind them and they stood on the street. She could hear flies buzzing around the zombie carcasses. Sheva wrinkled her nose and leaned her motorbike against the fence. She took the gasoline and poured it gingerly over the bodies.

"Let's get going," she said as she struck a match and tossed it onto the dead zombies.

Though the bikes were relatively quiet, the whirring of the motors still sounded loud against the eerie silence. Quinn had her short blonde hair tucked into a helmet, and her arms wrapped around Jill's middle. Santana was in a similar pose on Sheva's bike. They were traveling rather quickly - clearly, the older women had driven this way before.

Quinn wasn't entirely sure why she had volunteered to go - keeping busy was certainly important, but a foray into a previously uncharted area for food? It was a big risk. The inner city didn't have too many supermarkets. No Wal-Marts around for them to grab food AND basic ammo in one trip.

But she needed to be strong. For Rachel. And for Santana and Britt. Also, it was important to help their new allies out and not just be dead weight. Dead weight could easily be discarded, but strong and competent fighters could not.

The freeways surrounding the city were littered with debris and abandoned vehicles. Quinn could see a pileup on Interstate 295 as they traveled south, and then east. Capitol Hill passed in a blur. Abandoned buildings. A few zombies. Overgrown grass. More zombies.

The sign reading "Maryland Welcomes You" was overgrown with weeds as the motorcycles sped down a state highway and into what must have once been a quiet neighborhood in the suburbs.

"We'll kill the motors at that park," Sheva called over the noise, as they turned up a side street and passed an elementary school that had most of its windows broken in.

The park in question was small, and the brightly-colored motorcycles stood in sharp contrast to the torn and scorched grass at their feet.

Quinn took off her helmet and eased off the bike. Already, Jill and Sheva had their guns drawn and were scanning the area. It looked safe to continue, and they moved quickly off down to the main road.

"It looks like there might have been some stores closer to the highway," Jill said, peering through a thick set of binoculars. "I say we try those out."

Santana fell in step beside Quinn, almost touching her, as they walked past the elementary school and turned so they were parallel to the state highway. A cluster of buildings stood in front of them.

"That looks like a Dollar General or something," Quinn remarked, trying to be helpful. "The yellow roof."

Sheva smiled reassuringly at her. "Thank you, Q. We'll check it out."

Quinn's eyes hadn't failed them, and they stepped through the broken-in door frame and into the dollar store. Someone had evidently been here before. The cash registers were broken open and bare, and some of the shelves were empty.

"Okay, look for canned food…anything non-perishable," Jill said, her voice hushed. "And be careful. We don't know if we're alone in here…."

With Santana still at her side, Quinn inched off to the left. The other two women moved right and soon disappeared behind the half-empty rows of food. The store was small, and the light filtering in from outside provided was just enough for them to see as they piled canned soup, vegetables and tuna into the backpacks. The combat boots were heavy, and made her feel like every footstep made a crashing racket. She had never felt so loud and clumsy. They had done this before, of course, but she was still terrified.

They were nearing the end of the first aisle when Santana stopped her.

"You smell something?" It was barely audible.

Quinn was trying her hardest not to breathe loudly, but took a deep breath and wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah."

"Smells like –"

"Dead people."

San had her gun drawn immediately, and Quinn followed suit. Immediately, the adrenaline rush kicked in and she began hearing things. Was that just the wind outside, or was that the moaning of a horde of zombies? Was someone over there, or were those just shadows flickering?

As they reached the end of the aisle, the smell intensified. Quinn thought she could hear flies buzzing, and _definitely_ heard some sort of moaning or movement to their left.

_This is it_, she thought, _I'm going to be eaten alive here in a dollar store in Washington._

Calling for Jill or Sheva was useless now. Who knew how many zombies were in this store? Around the corner?

She was about to just bust around the corner and break out a hailstorm of bullets when something stopped her.

"…hello? Is someone there?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to everyone reading so far! I'm not sure where this is going to end up…but that's part of the fun, right?

* * *

><p>"Is someone there?" the small, high voice repeated, and a shadow moved off to their left. Santana had her Glock pointed at chest level, finger on the trigger. A figure stepped in front of them, at first barely discernible in the shadows. Quinn pushed her best friend's hand and gun away as a young girl stepped into a shaft of light.<p>

"Sheva! Jill!" Quinn called, voice strangled as she took in the sight of this girl's injuries. She couldn't have been more than six, her head barely coming to their waists as she reached a mangled and bloodied hand out to them.

"Don't touch her!" Jill yelled as she rounded a corner, and they stepped back quickly, letting the little girl's hand fall back to her side. Her arms and legs were covered with scrapes and bruises. A baseball-sized gash on her neck was oozing freely. Her blonde hair was matted, and her blue eyes clouded as she looked at them.

"Are you here to help us?" she asked, staring at them with a hollow look in her eyes.

"…us?" Jill asked.

"My daddy is here," the girl said, her voice dull. "We were attacked…we came in here to hide but they followed us in. Daddy fought them off but Mommy didn't make it."

Quinn felt her heart twist with sympathy as the girl spoke. She couldn't imagine seeing her mother eaten alive, no matter how many fights she had gotten into with the woman.

"Where is your daddy right now?" Sheva asked quietly, kneeling down to meet the young girl's eyes. She pointed back into the corner, and they followed her limping steps to what looked (and smelled) like a war zone: bloodied carcasses in bits, strewn across the tiled floor. Even in the dim light, Quinn could see the carnage, the remains of seven or eight zombies – she could tell they weren't ordinary people by the pallor of their skin, the strange tilt of their limbs that, even as they lay there, sent a shiver up her spine.

Sitting against the wall was a man, distinguishable from the zombies only by the slight rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were open, but they were clouded, and he was staring off towards the door. He, too, showed signs of having been in a fight, and blood was congealed on his skin from a thick gash on his forearm. He was mumbling to himself, nothing intelligible coming from the low syllables.

The girl knelt down to him, and he looked blankly up to her.

"Daddy, it's okay," she said. "These people are okay."

He showed no sign that he understood, only continued to stare at her. His uninjured arm twitched, as if he wanted to raise it, and she placed a palm on his cheek.

"Daddy, you're still burning up," she said, turning her head to the four armed women behind her. "He got scratched by one of those monsters and now his skin is so hot…but I got scratched, and I feel like I'm cold…and my neck and arms hurt so bad…they sting now."

Quinn's heart twisted. The girl didn't know she had a fever, didn't know she was already infected with the same thing her father was. Whatever this disease was, it moved fast.

"Can you help us?" she asked. Quinn and Santana looked at each other, and then at Jill and Sheva. Their lips were tight, and faces expressionless.

"Please…" the girl said. "My daddy is scaring me. I need him to get better so he doesn't try to hurt me…like…like Mommy did." Her eyes were filling up with tears, and she collapsed into her motionless father's lap with a wail. Quinn felt so helpless, but she didn't want to voice what she was thinking. The man's mumbling was the only thing filling the silence for several moments.

Jill took a deep breath. "I don't know if we can help you. I think…I think it's too late."

The girl cried out again, longer, and her father made a noise too, creating an eerie chord that made the hairs on the back of Quinn's neck stand up.

"Please!" the girl whimpered. "I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want to burn up and die. I don't want to turn into a monster. I don't…I don't…"

"There's only one thing we can do," Jill said slowly. The girl looked up.

"Please…anything."

And the blonde woman raised her handgun. The girl clutched even tighter to her father.

"No…no, there has to be something. Isn't there medicine? A shot? I know I can be good if you give me a shot."

Jill knelt, meeting her gaze. "Hey, listen to me. There is no cure. Not yet. The only way to make sure you don't become one of them is to…well, to kill you before you die of the disease and come back as a zombie. I promise I can make sure you don't hurt anyone if you come back. But your daddy is close to dying, I think. And you're hurt, so I think you're not going to make it. I know it is a harsh reality, but it's the truth."

"Will it hurt when you shoot me? Will it hurt my daddy?"

"…no."

"Okay... Please. Make the pain go away." She closed her eyes. Jill pointed the gun.

"I'm sorry," she said, and with two quick shots, their lives were gone.

As they rose again, hungry for blood, minutes later, Jill disposed of them just as quickly.

* * *

><p>Rachel and Brittany walked the halls, aimlessly exploring to keep their minds off of the dangerous mission Quinn and Santana had volunteered for. They each knew it was useless to beg their partner to stay – Q and S had made it a mission to protect R and B. But the latter two didn't know why the former two needed to be so damn gung-ho about it.<p>

_Still_, Rachel thought, _Jill and Sheva seem like they are seasoned fighters. They'll be safe_. She and Britt had wandered up to the top floor, and were stopped in front of a window looking down onto the lawn. She sighed and put her shoulder on the tall blonde's shoulder.

_Everything will be okay_, she thought. The past few months had been incredibly hard on her. She had never seen death, never experienced true pain. And all of a sudden the world crumbled, and they were hiding out in Santana and Brittany's hot apartment, trying to survive.

If it wasn't for Quinn's steady and calm presence, she was almost sure she would have gone mad by now.

"Hey, you two!" came a call from behind them. They turned to see Josh jogging up the steps behind them. He smiled. "You doing all right?" They nodded tentatively. "Eh, don't lie. I know you're worried," he said. "How about you follow me and we can find you both something to do?"

And so they turned from the window and tried to shake their fears as Josh led them to an area over by the staircase, where a ladder reached up to the roof. He gestured to it.

"Some of the Secret Service are still here with us. I figured you could meet them and possibly learn some surveillance tactics while you are here. That sound like something you can handle?"

"Like shooting?" Brittany asked. "I'm okay at that."

Josh grinned again. "Right, we need to keep those dirty bastards away from here, and also look for signs of survivors nearby. So you'll be using rifles if you see any of 'em. The Service does a good job of watching our backs if we're exploring."

"So why weren't they shooting at the undead chasing us when we were coming in this way?" Rachel asked.

Josh furrowed his brow, standing with one foot on the ladder. "They were probably focused elsewhere…or they just figured you would be all right with Chris. For all we know, they were providing cover fire behind you." He nodded and disappeared up to the roof. With a glance at Rachel, Brittany followed him. The brunette sighed.

_Might as well_.

If she hadn't known there were zombies all over the streets, Rachel might have assumed this was just a normal day in the life of the Secret Service. The officers were perched on stools and chairs across the roof, each with their SIG pistol at their waist and some sort of long-range weapon in hand. Three women and seven men, all well-dressed, with their sunglasses on. They looked quite professional, even sweating in the late afternoon sun.

"Hey, I brought some new recruits!" Josh called, and Rachel instantly felt self-conscious about her dirty ponytail, t-shirt and shorts as the Service members turned to size them up. Brittany, on the other hand, smiled and waved at them.

"Hello!"

One or two of them smiled, but the others remained impassive. Rachel supposed that they were taking this new "mission" extremely seriously, and had vowed to protect the White House for as long as they lived.

"This is Rachel, and this is Brittany." Josh continued. "The other two young women Chris picked up are with Jill and Sheva, scouting supplies."

"We saw them leave," one of the men said. "I'm watching for their return."

"Thank you," said Josh. "I thought that these two may want to see your operation. Could anyone spare a few seconds to show them a thing or two?"

"I will," the man who had just spoken said with a smile. The redheaded woman standing next to him nodded, so they walked over. Rachel's heart was pounding. Josh moved to the other end of the roof to talk with some of the other people.

"I'm Trayvon," the man said, shaking their hands individually with a grin. "This is my partner, Jenna."

"Nice to meet you," said Jenna. "You just got here, basically, right?" They nodded. "Well, there are always some of us up here looking out, so don't worry about being attacked while you are here. About 40 of us remained in the city to protect President Obama and his family, and the other government workers in the area." She sighed. "We lost 12 of our friends at the Service, and a lot of other people. But those of us left are here at the House, working with Chris's team to fight the infected while we look for some answers."

"Right," Trayvon said. He dropped his voice "And between us, there are quite a few of us who feel guilty that their friends died, or that a government agent died on their watch. Some of the Service are up here all day and night, in the hopes that every zombie they kill will help ease the pain of this experience." He shook his head. "It has been hard on all of us. No doubt that it has been for you, too," he said.

"So you can shoot the zombies from up here?" Brittany asked.

"Well, with this gun I have here I can reach anywhere from 600 to over 2,000 meters, depending on the bullets," Jenna said. "It's useful for scoping out the area in places that binoculars can't quite reach."

"Wow."

"Do you have any experience with guns?" she asked them.

"Uh. A little, but mostly up-close," the blonde responded.

"Well, here," Jenna said, and handed Brittany her rifle. Britt took it, slowly, and held it tight. "Hold it up so you're looking through the scope…there you go. See anything?"

"Whoa!"

"Yeah?"

"That restaurant is like half a mile away but I can read the sign!" Brittany sounded fascinated as she peered through the telescope.

"Do you see any zombies?" Trayvon asked. "Look around a bit, but be careful you're not pointing it at us!"

Brittany moved a bit. "Yeah, I see one."

"Can you hit it?"

She paused, then pulled the trigger.

"I got it!" she crowed, lifting her head with a grin. "Right in the head."

"Well done!" Jenna said. "You know to hit them right in the brain, then? Quickest way to down one." The both nodded.

"Rachel, do you want to try? You're welcome to hang up here with us when we're on duty," Trayvon said." The brunette bit her lip and studied the large gun that was being offered to her.

"I, uh…"

"Don't want to? That's fine," he said. "We're up here every day if you change your mind."

"Thank you…"

A shout came from behind them, and all four whipped around.

"Hey! Sheva and Jill are coming back!" one of the other officers yelled.

Rachel and Brittany shot each other a look.

"Go on, we'll catch you later!" Jenna said as Josh beckoned to them.

"Come on, girls." He said. "Let's go see what they found."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Damn, it's been like a week. Sorry, friends. Thanks for hanging with me!

- Raggy

They were back to the safety of the White House. Quinn felt as if she had been on the motorcycle for days, and her legs felt like cramping up as she followed Jill, Sheva and Santana into the foyer.

"Thank you for your help," Jill said, turning and placing a hand on the younger women's shoulders. After the zombified versions of the little girl and her dad had fallen, Sheva extracted some of their blood into vials for Jeffrey to study in the library. They had also taken an exposed chunk of brain from one of the zombies in the store in hopes it could help.

And on their way home, they ran across several abandoned police cars that had ammunition in the trunk.

It had been a successful trip, Jill had said, but Quinn still couldn't shake the image of the little girl in Dollar General, pleading for help and so willingly accepting death.

She hoped there was some peaceful afterlife for that girl and her father, something more than a quick death to ease their pain.

She also hoped their blood could help find a cure or antidote to the virus.

"Santana! Quinn!" came a shout, and Quinn looked up to see Brittany and Rachel running down the stairs, followed closely by Josh. Rachel flew into her arms and squeezed her tight.

"I'm so happy you're back safe," she whispered, not letting go for almost a minute as Quinn breathed in the smell of her hair. Brittany had her arms wrapped tightly around Santana, too, and was laughing with what sounded like pure relief at seeing her girlfriend and one of her closest friends safe and sound.

Quinn smiled. In all the chaos, it felt good to have something to keep her grounded. Rachel finally detached herself and stood at Quinn's side, helping her remove the heavy backpack.

"What did you find?" Josh asked as he relieved Jill and Sheva of their packs and set them by the stairs.

"Enough food to last a while, and some ammunition," Sheva replied as she stretched. "There's a CVS across the street, too. We took a sample of blood from two victims and a piece of brain, so I hope that will be enough for research."

"We'll take them to the library," Jill said. She turned. "Santana, Quinn, thank you again. Get some rest, and we can all meet up later for dinner."

As soon as they were out of earshot, Josh turned to his comrades. "It really went all right? The two young ones looked shook up."

Jill sighed. "There was a young girl in the store whose family had been attacked by zombies. She was badly injured, and her father was there with her – barely alive, and showing no signs of recognition. He was bound to die and turn into one of the infected…"

"You killed them." It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

He nodded. "I understand. And I understand why it was hard for our friends to see that. Sometimes I forget how things like that used to affect me as a young officer. We have seen so much."

"Indeed," Jill said darkly as they reached the library. The austere paintings and mahogany shelves full of books still remained, and she absentmindedly trailed her fingers across them as they approached the front of the room. Here, Jeffrey had collected everything they knew about the virus. Posterboards were taped and nailed to the wall, where the young student had scribbled theories, formulas and drawings. As they approached, he was writing feverishly in a journal. He clapped it closed with a flourish and stared up at them with his bright blue eyes.

"Have anything for me?" His shaggy blonde hair fell into his eyes as usual, and the plaid shirt he was wearing looked rumpled. Jeffrey was nice enough, but pored over textbooks and showed a fascination with this virus that was almost creepy. He rarely left the library, preferring to sit with books and think.

Jill passed the vials of blood and the brain sample, which he took with a reverent gasp.

"This is it? Fresh samples?"

"Yes, very fresh. Two different specimens for blood, and one…well, not so fresh…zombie brain."

"Excellent!" he stared at the containers before placing them carefully on the desk. "This should be enough to begin studying it."

"You think you can isolate the virus?" Josh asked with a frown.

Jeffrey gave him a withering look. "If these samples are correct, then of course I can."

"How long?" Jill asked. The young man shrugged.

"Eh. Maybe days, maybe weeks. If I can see how it moves and affects the brain, it can be a start. I may need more, though. If this doesn't work, I'm going to need a live sample."

Josh snorted. "You can't be serious! I'm not about to bring one of the infected in here for you to run experiments on. What if it gets loose and kills us all in our sleep?"

"I'm completely serious! I'm the only one who has the knowledge to beat this thing, Stone. Your action heroics and shotgun blasts can only do so much," the young man retorted. Josh's lips tightened, but he said nothing further.

"Now if you'll excuse me…" Jeffrey said, and gave them a pointed glance.

They took the hint and returned to the hallway.

"Mad scientist alert," Sheva muttered as they grabbed their packs and headed back to their rooms. "See you, Josh."

"We need to keep an eye on him or something," Josh said as he turned down a separate hallway. "I'm going to go talk to Chris."

Jill and Sheva shared adjoining rooms in the West Wing and slept on air mattresses from another local dollar store. It wasn't much, but it was a damn sight better than some of the places they had camped out.

For Jill, anything was better than being stuck in cryostasis, as she had been in 2009 when Albert Wesker took her hostage and ran experiments on her. She had been infected with one of his viruses and forced to do his bidding – infecting innocent people was hard enough for her to do while under mind control, but it was even harder for her to fight against Chris and Sheva.

She remembered full well how much she had struggled against the mind control device, but her body has been unable to fight it as she picked up her machine gun and fired bullet after bullet at her old partner.

She also remembered the sense of relief she felt when Chris and Sheva had been able to subdue her and rip the device off of her chest, remembered clearly the first sight of their eyes staring down at her and how relieved Chris had been that she was all right. They didn't have much time to talk then, but she had thanked them and been able to help them find and defeat Wesker.

That all seemed like ages ago, and their fight was still continuing. The best hope was in a young man with a somewhat worrisome obsession with the disease.

She sighed and Sheva looked at her curiously.

"What's up?" Jill laughed and shook her head.

"Sometimes I think we're just crazy to keep doing what we do."

Quinn hadn't bothered to take her boots off, and was lying face down on her sleeping bag. Brittany was laughing about something in the adjoining room as she helped Santana unload some of the canned food from their backpacks.

She felt a presence beside her on the floor and sighed as Rachel's soft hands began massaging her shoulders.

"You got sunburnt, baby. Tell me if I'm hurting you."

"Thank you," Quinn mumbled into the pillow as she tried to relax. She could sense that Rachel was itching to ask her everything about their foray for supplies, but was holding her tongue. In the past few years, they had worked that out in their relationship: Quinn shared more of her thoughts and feelings, Rachel asked less about Quinn's thoughts and feelings. But since everything had gone to hell in a matter of months, the once-loquacious Broadway student was quieter, more reserved. Quinn and Santana had seen their share of hardships, had experienced pain and violence. Brittany and Rachel were more sheltered in that regard, and had reacted differently than their partners in the past several months.

Nothing mattered more to Quinn right now than keeping Rachel safe. Even now, where everything was seemingly secure with their new allies, she felt as if she couldn't trust anyone. No one but the three women she had known since high school.

Rachel's hands slid off of her shoulders, and Quinn felt the little brunette lay down next to her. She turned her head to the sides and opened her eyes lazily.

"Why'd you stop?"

Rachel kissed her forehead. "My hands aren't as strong as yours are. I need a break!"

Quinn winked at her. "I know what would help with that…" This prompted a blush.

"You just went and killed zombies and all you can think about is sex? I guess I'm more enticing than I thought."

The blonde laughed. "More enticing than dead zombies? …yes. Yes you are."

"Everything went well, then? We were kind of worried." Rachel slipped her hand into Quinn's.

"Yeah, we managed to get quite a bit of supplies. It was scary, but I think we both felt secure with Jill and Sheva on our sides."

"They seem very kind. I would expect them to be a bit more serious, given their history as fighters, but they seem…well, like normal people."

Quinn nodded. "Yeah, they're nice. For lack of a better term. I really like them."

Rachel squeezed her hand. "They don't care about…you and me? Britt and Santana?"

Quinn kissed her forehead. "I honestly don't think they give a damn at all. Something tells me that when you have as much experience with bioterrorism and saving lives as they do, things like sexual orientation and race and all that don't matter. I have a feeling that Santana telling them we were gay was like telling them we were from Ohio. It just adds to our life experiences, and they don't judge us for anything."

"It's kind of sad, but I feel like everyone is that way now. I mean, this city is crumbling. People are banding together to survive. I mean, look at Chris. He came and picked us up without much though as to our motives. I think something like this outbreak has made everyone a little more trusting and tolerant."

Quinn nodded. "I see your point. But why do you say it's sad?"

The brunette shrugged. "Sad that it took some sort of disaster for people to just see each other as people. You know, Britt and I were up on the roof with Josh and we met some Secret Service people. And most of them were quiet, but two of them just took us under their wing, so to speak, and asked if we wanted to help them shoot. Just like that. I mean, the Secret Service! Giving a rifle to 21-year-old kids like Britt and I and trusting us. And like Jill and Sheva, who are experienced fighters, asking if any of us wanted to come along to look for supplies. Santana used to talk about how the older police officers treated the younger ones like shit. Now, I bet it would be different."

Quinn sighed. "I hope it stays like this after everything is over. I hope people remember the feeling of camaraderie that this outbreak has instilled."

Rachel sat up slightly. "You think it's going to end? You really think that Jeffrey guy can find a cure?"

"I don't know…but we have to hope, right?"

Hope was the only thing, after all, that helped them conquer fear.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter took forever to write because my life has been busy…and because it's not full of action! Sorry to keep you waiting. I think I've got the rest of the plot worked out…so bear with me and my slow fingers, please. Hope you all are well out there. :)

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><p>The way the virus moved and mutated was unlike anything Jeffrey had ever seen. It was quick, and it was strong – if the printouts of its genetic coding were correct. They were from the Carnegie Institute for Science, all that could be salvaged of the research after an "accidental" explosion that destroyed most of the documents on the same night the virus was stolen.<p>

Luckily for Jeffrey, Chris Redfield had been watching the research facility closely. But by the time his team showed up, the thief was long gone and most of the information about the virus had been destroyed. The explosion in the building had propelled a thick leather briefcase through the wall and into the streets.

Jill's keen eyes had been able to see its outline in the hazy night that surrounded the facility, and they took it with them back to the hotel – because they were still staying in a hotel those days – but couldn't do much with it. After all, what could a bunch of fighters do with classified scientific information?

They were lucky, he thought, that he heard about them and decided to seek them out. He knew all about Umbrella and a bit about Tricell Corporation – in other words, he knew that bioterrorism existed. And he knew people were out there to fight it. Both sides fascinated him, but it was the virus that held his attention the most – what it was capable of, how quickly it was spreading.

He was good with science, yes, but he was also very good with computers. He managed to track communications between Chris and some BSAA agents in Britain (in part because the signal they were using was so strong), and find them at the hotel just hours before the news broke that the president and his family were in danger. Jeffrey had hidden next to a pile of corpses while the BSAA team eliminated the zombie threat at the White House gates and then followed them as they moved in and secured the location. The carnage didn't bother him, but the number of infected was definitely exhilarating. He had never seen anything like it.

Since then, he had stayed mostly to himself in the library, working tirelessly with the information to try and decode the virus. So far, he was able to determine how close it was to the original H5N1 strain of avian flu. The original virus was quick-acting and highly contagious, that much was obvious even to someone who wasn't studying it. But a few simple mutations in the genetic material caused this new virus to be even faster at attacking the nervous system, and even quicker to spread through the air. Jeffrey thought he had discovered which parts of the virus had mutated, but he needed blood and tissue samples before he did any other work.

The samples that the women had brought back were perfect. It was almost 4 a.m. and he was still awake, examining the samples. He had extracted some of his own blood so he could watch how the virus attacked healthy cells, and it was breathtaking. Now that he knew how it moved and replicated itself, he could begin to work towards a cure, something to block it.

He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined it. The press conferences, the newspaper and magazine interviews. He would be regarded as a hero. Someone would make a movie about him one day. The young student who found a way to stop the most terrifying epidemic the nation had ever seen.

He had heard Chris and Josh worriedly discussing how far the virus had spread earlier that day. The National Guard in New Jersey was desperately trying to build a blockade to keep wandering hordes out of the state. Delaware and Maryland had already been overrun, and zombies were making their way through Pennsylvania. The president had advised people to move west until the virus was contained, but there were still millions of people holed up in New York City and other cities across the east coast. Once the population of NYC was infected, there would be almost no stopping the number of infected – unless, of course, the military just bombed the city. Still, if it got to that point, there would no doubt be zombies who had already wandered out of the city.

Yes, New York was now the biggest concern for Chris's team and the president. But if Jeffrey could replicate a cure or antidote in time, perhaps they could release it into the air and reach enough people in time.

Perhaps. It all depended on him. No one was left who understood virology and chemistry as well as he did.

He smiled. He could be a hero.

He was so close.

* * *

><p>The day after their little motorcycle expedition, Quinn and Santana accompanied Rachel and Brittany onto the roof to visit the Secret Service agents. Trayvon and Jenna were happy to meet the two other women, and offered all of them more lessons in sniping zombies and running surveillance. Surprising to them all was that Rachel Berry was an excellent distance shooter - and the one who was most surprised was the little brunette herself.<p>

"I think you're ready to take my shift, young Berry," Trayvon said with a grin after Rachel picked off a duo of zombies on a rooftop. She blushed and handed the rifle back to him.

"I don't think so...not quite yet." Quinn smiled reassuringly at her, then winced as her sunburnt cheeks throbbed.

"What did you say you did in college?" Trayvon asked. "Did you do any sports or anything? Your hand-eye coordination is spectacular, and your vision has to be almost perfect."

"Um...I studied drama and voice. And I take a lot of vitamins."

"...oh."

Santana laughed. "The three of us were cheerleaders in high school, no joke. Guess we still don't have the proper coordination! All that training for nothing."

"Says the cop," Quinn retorted. She was sweating with the effort of trying to shoot straight. "You have enough training to get by with any weapon. This is hard for me!"

The redheaded woman laughed and took her gun back. "You'll get it, Quinn. I heard you're good at close-range shots, though!"

"Yeah, kinda." Quinn wiped her brow, and squinted towards the center of the roof as someone caught her eye. "Hey, is that..." She initially thought the tall man climbing up the ladder was Josh, but his skin was much lighter. If Trayvon hadn't have been right next to her, she might have thought it was him. Then who...

She watched as the Service men and women stood and saluted, then her mouth dropped open as she realized who it was.

The president.

"Hey, we have a visitor," Trayvon said, right as Quinn realized who the man was. Obama looked thinner and grayer than the last time she had seen him on television. But he was smiling as he stood talking on the other side of the roof with his protectors.

She was stuck in between being starstruck and wondering how much of his smile was forced. Surely, he had little to grin about these days. He moved from person to person, probably making small talk or something, and finally reached the right side of the roof.

"Hey," he greeted them, wiping sweat off of his brow. "You four must be the new recruits, right? Jill and Sheva had good things to say about you when I was last talking to them." He held out his hand and they all introduced themselves. His grip was firm, and Quinn couldn't help but smile back as his brown eyes looked into hers.

"Well, as always, thanks to you two for being up here," he said to Trayvon and Jenna. "Streets seem quiet enough?"

"Yes sir," Trayvon replied. "No big movements coming through in the last few days. Any news from up north?"

The president's smile faded. "Well, they've been getting sight of a few walkers close to Philadelphia. The folks up in Pennsylvania have mostly fled to Ohio or up into the more mountainous regions. But Philly is close enough to New York and New Jersey that we're beginning to worry. They've barricaded the state borders as best as they can, but I don't know if anything substantial will be in place in time."

"Damn," Jenna said. "Do you honestly think the military will hold out long enough in NYC? Are they that dedicated?"

"Well," Obama said, dropping his voice slightly, "I'm not sure. I know that the New York police and fire departments will stay at their posts until they die. But the military…I'm not so sure. If the commanders get scared, they may give orders to move to the next big city. There are already quite a few survivors taking refuge in Boston. And I think the hordes will move north quicker, because the terrain is flatter and the cities are closer together. I don't think any zombies will be too keen on trying to climb the Appalachians or swim the Ohio River, but there are some reports of them moving south."

"Are Chris's people going to interfere?" Jenna asked.

The president shrugged. "There aren't too many of them available, I don't think. It's a small operation. And since all major airports are shut down, they'll probably have a bit of trouble trying to gain access to an aircraft if they don't have one. Last I heard, some agents were trying to get here from the BSAA operative in Russia, but it's taking them a long time…. I think we're alone here, for now. There's no real way we could even leave if we wanted to….not all of us."

Quinn suppressed a shiver. How long could they hold out? How long until someone came to their rescue, or figured out how to stop the hordes?

Just then, the walkie-talkie on her belt crackled to life.

"Quinn, it's Sheva. Come in."

With a glance at the others, she pulled it to her mouth. Sheva sounded anxious.

"Go ahead."

"Can you meet us in the library? Jeffrey thinks he has found something." A tingle shot up Quinn's spine. Could this be a serious breakthrough?

"What is it?"

"We don't know. Are you available?"

She didn't even have to look up at Rachel, Brittany or Santana to know they were right there with her.

"We're on our way."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So I am hoping to have another shorter chapter, like this one, up _before_ the next two three weeks zoom by. I'm sorry, friends. :( I've got a busy life, I guess! Just some more plot in this one, it's about to get craaaazy~

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><p>The White House library was dimly lit and smelled like the McKinley High chemistry lab. Quinn held the door open for Santana and Brittany, and slipped her hand into Rachel's as the little brunette stepped onto the wine-colored carpet.<p>

Sheva and Josh were sitting at a large mahogany desk, with a blonde young man Quinn could only assume was Jeffrey. As they tentatively approached the desk, she could see posterboards attached to the wall with chemical formulas and drawings and diagrams.

Sheva smiled at them, but Josh only nodded in their direction, a scowl creasing his forehead. The young man stood.

"I'm Jeffrey," he said, with a wide smile that didn't quite reach his bright blue eyes. His hand was cold, and Quinn shivered involuntarily as she shook it.

"We're just waiting for Chris and Jill," Josh said flatly as Jeffrey sat back down. "Feel free to take a seat. Einstein here has something he wants to tell the whole team."

"Are you sure we should be in on this?" Santana asked.

"Why not?" Josh countered. "You're a part of this too. Part of the team. Besides, Chris wanted you to be here. He thinks you are valuable parts of this operation."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Chris hadn't had much contact with them since he picked them up several days ago. He seemed reserved, not very good company in conversation. But if he thought it was important that they were kept in the loop…well… They had only been there a few days, but definitely _wanted_ to help. Still, helping the Secret Service patrol the rooftop was one thing – she wasn't sure what to expect with scientific news.

The door swung open behind them, and Chris strode in, with Jill at his heels.

"Company," Chris greeted them before taking a seat next to Josh. "All right, what the hell is going on?"

Josh snorted. "Bruce Banner here thinks he's got a solution to our little problem."

"A solution?"

"Yeah, a bat-shit crazy solution!" Josh snarled. "Someone's going to get killed."

"Josh. Let us hear him out before you start with your opinions." The dark-skinned man shrugged and threw his hands in the air. Chris nodded to Jeffrey.

"Thank you," Jeffrey said in a quiet tenor. "I believe I have found a solution, a medicine delivered orally that can stop the virus's spread in people. If they are already infected, it will cause the virus to attack itself and the person will die peacefully. But if they have just recently been bitten, it should work to counter the virus's spread before it reaches the brain and turns them into mutations. They may lose some feeling in their arms and legs, or wherever they've been bitten, but if the bite is recent enough they will be okay."

"Define 'recently,'" Jill said. "How can you be sure of the time it will take?"

"I estimate it reaches the brain in around five minutes, given what I've seen on the video footage from outside." He scowled. "No one would let me _bring one in_, so it's just a guess."

Chris held up a hand to stop another outburst from Josh. Quinn looked, concerned, over to him. Josh looked more and more upset at every word from the young scientist, but he also looked worried about something…

"Jeffrey," she said, and eight pairs of eyes snapped to her. She swallowed, suddenly nervous, and Rachel squeezed her hand lightly to encourage her. "How are you planning to use this? How are you going to get it into the atmosphere so it reaches the biggest amount of walkers?"

"I was hoping to get support from the government," he said with a sigh. "But there is no way they can loan me a chopper or the supplies I need to mass-produce this. So I'm turning now to the BSAA…"

"It's crazy!" Josh shouted. "There's no way we're going to lend you anything. What if it doesn't work? What if we risk supplies, risk peoples' lives, and it's all for nothing? There isn't a chopper anywhere _near_ here."

"We don't even know it works," Santana put in. "I'm sorry, but I need some proof before I support this."

"What other option do you have?" the young man scoffed. "You're just going to pick them off one by one with your guns while people die?"

Brittany spoke up. "Aren't there more agents out there? Can't they come help?"

"Exactly," Josh said. "We've got people on their way. We need to wait here, control the zombie population at home."

"Until what?" Jeffrey countered. "How many more people are going to be infected before they get here? How far will the zombies infiltrate into the rest of the country before you start trying to blow everything up and stop it?"

"I would rather use a method I know will work than use some crazy vaccine that may not even work…or could even be harmful!"

"Fine," Jeffrey said roughly. "If you want proof, we'll go out there and try it. We can go on the streets and I can experiment on some of the test subjects. Deal?"

"What?" Josh barked.

"Yeah, I'm not okay with that, Four-Eyes," Santana said, arms crossed. "How do we know we can trust that you've been here in your secret lab all by yourself and produced something that is actually _good_ for us?"

"Look, I'm the only one here who knows enough to even begin to be solving this!" the blonde young man snarled. "You should show a little more respect to someone who just may be able to save your damn life. None of you brass could even come close to what I've accomplished, none of you college kids or theatre geeks or whatever the hell you are can even begin to comprehend the level of knowledge that I possess and the hard work I've put in! You trusted me to work on this, and I am _telling you_ it's going to be a success!"

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand tighter as Santana and Josh both stood up and started shouting at the seated Jeffrey, who began holding up sheets of his research and yelling back. Sheva and Jill stepped in the middle to calm everything down, while Chris simply sat and thought.

"I think," he said slowly once everyone had settled down, "That there seems to be no other option."

Josh and Santana looked incredulous. Jeffrey grinned smugly. Quinn frowned, but couldn't see any other option herself…

"We can't wait for the BSAA," Chris continued. "If this infection gets to New York, there will be no way we can stop all of those infected bodies. This country will be done for. We need hope."

"What's the President say?" Josh spat.

"It doesn't matter! We're not taking orders from him. This is a national emergency, and the BSAA has been authorized to do whatever it takes."

"I think you're being foolish with that power, then." Josh stood. "You go through with this, I'm out. I'll find another way." He turned and walked to the door, staring them all down as he turned. "Anyone coming with me?"

And to Quinn's surprise, Santana stood, took Brittany's hand, and joined him at the door. Rachel dropped her own girlfriend's hand and stood.

"No! Come on, we need to think this over…you can't just leave us…"

Santana wrapped an arm around Brittany's waist and pulled the blonde closer to her. "I think Josh is right. I trust the BSAA right now more than anyone."

"But we need to stick together as a team! Brittany…you agree with her?"

Brittany nodded. "San knows what she's talking about…I don't like shots, anyway."

Frustrated, Rachel glared down at Quinn. "Baby, say _something_!"

But Quinn could only try to fight the tears pricking at her eyes, and held a hand to her forehead in a tough-guy salute.

"Be careful, okay?"

Brittany smiled. "Don't worry Quinn. We'll be just fine. We'll see you soon, okay?"

And with that, they were gone.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hope you all are doing well! I'm pretty sure all the weapons I reference in this chapter are from Resident Evil 5. Wanted to keep some authenticity. Thanks for reading!

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><p>Quinn could feel Rachel trembling next to her as they stared at the door that Brittany and Santana had just disappeared through.<p>

"It's okay," she said quietly, squeezing her girlfriend's hand and standing up to meet her brown eyes. "We'll see them again."

Chris, Sheva and Jill seemed to be just as thunderstruck that Josh had just walked out. Jeffrey, on the other hand, had a slight smirk on his face that Quinn was just itching to slap right off.

"Well then," the young scientist said, pushing his blonde locks out of his face. "I say we go try this out, huh?"

"We'll try it," Chris said flatly. "But you need to let us carry our weapons in case we get ambushed or something goes wrong with your injection."

The smirk faded slightly. "Fine," Jeffrey said with a shrug. "I don't think you're going to need them."

"Just humor an old paranoid soldier, then," Chris said. "We'll meet at the front door in fifteen, let's go." He strode out of the room without a backwards glance. Jill wrapped an arm around Sheva's shoulders and they followed suit. Quinn squeezed Rachel's hand, and left Jeffrey behind.

"I can't believe they left," Rachel said quietly as the two of them walked down to their room.

"I…I can't either," Quinn said. "But…I don't know. I'm not worried. I really think they'll be back. Maybe it was good they left, maybe they'll find help with Josh."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. I really do. I trust their instincts, and Josh seems like he knows what he's doing…"

"I don't know," Rachel said. "This whole situation is just crazy. I can't believe we're here." They had reached their room, and she sank down onto a pillow on the floor. Quinn opened the dresser drawers and pulled out the Glock pistols she had become so accustomed to using. Sheva had given her a pair of shoulder holsters, so she strapped them on and dug around in the drawer for more ammo.

This plan was insane, she knew it. She understood why Brittany, Santana and Josh had left so suddenly. But she couldn't help but hope that Jeffrey's medicine would work, and that this nightmare would be over. Besides, if something went wrong, they had three trained officers who had been fighting zombies and other creatures for their entire lives. She _had_ to trust Chris, Jill and Sheva. The BSAA officers had trusted the McKinley High girls, and Quinn was not about to take their trust too lightly. Besides, she had to keep Rachel safe at any cost, and that was highest priority. She loaded ammunition into the guns with a grim resolve.

If this ended badly, she was damn sure she would be armed to the teeth.

Quinn turned and noticed Rachel's eyes had widened considerably.

"…you think you're going to need those?"

Quinn knelt and took the smaller hands in hers.

"Baby, I don't know what's going on right now. All I know is that it's dangerous out there, and I might need these. All I know is that we're here in the middle of this craziness, and I want to help the BSAA. But I also want to protect you." She slid her hands up the tan arms and cupped Rachel's face in her palms. "It's going to be okay, I promise. We need to be ready for anything, and you bet I'm going to be carrying as much heat as possible. I'll keep you safe. We're going to get through this together, okay?"

Rachel leaned forward and kissed her so feverishly that Quinn nearly fell over. Laughing, she wrapped her arms around the little brunette's neck and pulled her in for another kiss.

"I love you," Rachel said as their lips met again and again and as the smaller hands got tangled in short blonde hair.

"I love you," Quinn responded, smiling through the kisses. "Don't be scared, okay?" She looked into the brown eyes, hands still cupping Rachel's cheeks. "I promise. We'll be fine."

"I trust you, Quinn, I'm just so scared…"

"I know. We need to be ready for anything, right?" Rachel nodded. "I think we should go with them to test it. I want to know what's going on. We can tell Trayvon and Jenna to get the rest of the Secret Service running extra surveillance around where we are going to be. Would that help?"

"Probably," the brunette said with a small smile. Quinn pulled her into a hug and kissed her forehead.

"Let's get you ready, okay?" They stood, and Rachel poked her head into Santana and Brittany's room.

"Their equipment is still in here. Do you think I can borrow it?"

"Of course. I think Britt has a rifle down here. You never know when you'll need your sniper skills out there." Rachel blushed, but smiled as she located the gun and strapped it to her back.

They each dressed in BSAA-issued khakis, boots, jade green shirts and caps. Quinn had her Glock pistols in the shoulder holsters, a knife in each boot, and an Ithaca M3 shotgun over her back. Rachel took the Dragunov SVD rifle across her back and a Beretta handgun at her side, as well as a knife set of her own at the other hip.

Each had a walkie-talkie and protective vest, and Quinn raised her walkie to her lips.

"Trayvon, do you copy?"

The Service agent responded immediately.

"Hey, Quinn! What the hell is going on down there? We heard one of the military vehicles take off."

"Yeah, Brittany and Santana headed somewhere with Josh. They don't trust Jeffrey. We're off to some sort of testing experiment with him, though. Watch us, all right? We may need some sharp shooting."

"Jenna and I are ready. We'll follow you from the front door to wherever you're headed!"

"Thank you. I'm out."

And so, she and Rachel headed to the front door with some trepidation, hands tightly locked.

Chris, Jill and Sheva were there already, and armed to the teeth. Sheva winked at them, Jill nodded solemnly, and Chris simply stared them down impassively.

Less than a minute later, Jeffrey was with them. He carried no weapons, only a briefcase and a smirk.

"What are you going to be fighting out there, Redfield?" he asked Chris.

"Zombies," Chris answered curtly. "We're taking this off the premises so there's no chance of directing any hordes to the White House. They're everywhere in the city and I'm taking down any that threaten us. Got it?"

The young man shrugged. "All right. But I swear this is going to work. I know my stuff when it comes to biology and medicine"

"I don't hold much stock in pharmaceuticals," Chris said dryly. "The Jeep is outside. Let's roll."

They all piled into the vehicle and turned swiftly out of the lawn and down the street. Wandering zombies lumbered towards the noise of the engine, but Chris was moving too quickly for them to be able to catch up. Rachel clung to Quinn's arm in the back, as they sat sandwiched between Jill and Sheva. Jeffrey was calmly looking out the window, holding the briefcase securely.

They stopped at a four-way intersection about a mile from the White House. The area was devoid of zombies, so Chris killed the motor and they all got out. Quinn was already sweating, and shared a sip of water with Rachel as the six of them surveyed the area.

"Get your juice ready, Doctor," Chris said as he drew his Samurai Edge. A lone female zombie was approaching the group, raggedly dragging limp limbs across the pavement.

Jeffrey had what looked like a tiny aerosol can in his hand. He took a deep breath, then took off running full-tilt towards the zombie.

The creature stopped, its tiny brain most likely confused at why its prey would be running _towards_ it.

With agility Quinn would not have guessed he possessed, Jeffrey ran right up to the zombie, sprayed the medicine in its face, and juked to the left, continuing his sprint until he was several yards away.

The creature didn't follow him, only stood frozen for a moment. Rachel was gripping Quinn's hand again, and Chris's gun was still pointed right at the zombie's head.

Then, suddenly, it began shaking, full-body tremors that caused the limp limbs to become animated again. Jeffrey had turned and was watching closely, creeping forward as the shaking grew more and more violent. The creature's eyes were wide, its gaping mouth open in what almost looked like a silent scream.

Then, abruptly, the shaking stopped. The body fell to the ground, motionless. The eyes were still open, the mouth still agape – but there was no question. The creature was down.

Jeffrey gave a shout and ran over to it. "I told you!" he crowed. "Look, the spray shut down the virus completely!" He knelt next to it and pulled a notebook out of his pocket, writing feverishly.

Quinn couldn't believe it. True, it was nothing like the _peaceful_ death he had said the creatures would feel when they were back in the lab. But…it seemed like it had worked. They stood silently for several moments as the young man wrote his notes, unable to believe and almost daring to finally have hope.

And then, a movement caught her eye. A tightening of Rachel's hand told her that the brunette had seen it too. Had the body _moved_?

A sudden twitch caused them both to jump. There was no doubt, something unexpected was going on with that body.

"Jeffrey!" Quinn cried. "You need to move! Something's making it move!"

"What?" he looked up from his notes. "That's impossible. It's dead again."

Quinn and Rachel moved closer, and the BSAA agents were right behind them.

"I swear to God you need to back up. We both saw something," she said.

"I think the heat's playing tricks on you!"

Quinn opened her mouth to argue, but another noise drowned out her reply completely. A harsh scream that reminded her of nails on a chalkboard was coming from that open mouth – and before they could react, the zombie had hands on Jeffrey's leg and was tearing into the flesh of his calf, using his body to pull itself up as it tore his skin open.

He screamed in pain and terror, and Chris opened fire, burying five bullets into the undead skull. This gave Jeffrey the chance to tear himself away from its grasp, but blood was already pouring from the gash in his leg. The zombie stood, and there was almost a demonic glint in its dead eyes as it began walking towards the group – _walking_ was indeed the right term. It wasn't dragging its limbs any more. It was a lot more mobile and a hell of a lot quicker than it had been before.

Sheva and Jill both had machine guns at the ready, and lit up the body with bullets. It slowed the advance, but the zombie was now closing in. They were backing up, still shooting at it. The creature fell to its knees and uttered another cry that made the hairs on the back of Quinn's neck stand up.

"This fucker is going to attract every zombie in the city!" Jill roared.

In desperation, Quinn pulled out a knife and flung it at the screaming creature. Her aim was perfect, and the blade sliced right through the putrid flesh of the neck and severed the zombie's head clean off. The scream stopped and the body finally fell over, defeated.

Her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest as she gulped for air.

"Jesus," Chris said. "That fucking spray only makes them worse! Stronger, somehow…but still vulnerable to gunfire, did you notice?"

All Jill and Sheva could do was nod.

"Quinn," Chris said, his blue eyes locked on her hazel ones. "Thank you. That was a great idea, and it worked."

"I…I did what I thought was right," she said.

"Oh my God!" Rachel yelled suddenly, pointing at Jeffrey.

The young scientist was now huddled in a ball, trembling. The vial of "antidote" had flown out of his hand and was laying several yards away. The blood still poured out of the wound on his leg.

But even as they approached him, his head suddenly snapped back and he let out a cry.

Like nails on a chalkboard, or machine gears grinding together.

Like one of the most terrifying things Quinn had ever heard.

And they watched in terror as he stood, limbs limp but still looking capable, his eyes hollow and deadened.

The noise had attracted a small group of zombies from somewhere, and about ten of them approached from the south as the zombified Jeffrey crept forward on his new legs from their west.

They were about to be attacked if they didn't do something.

And quickly.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I know, I know. Been a hell of a month! New job, death in the family, graduation…oy. Y'all need to keep me in check! Or just say hey if you want to. Catch me on Twitter or Tumblr as mkrj. Thanks for reading!

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><p><em>The cure didn't work<em>.

That's all Quinn could think about. The cure didn't work and they were back to square one - plus, they had this new mutation of the virus to deal with.

Would this ever end?

Chris immediately began firing at the small group of zombies to the south as the team backed slowly towards the Jeep. Jeffrey – or rather, the creature he had become – was still inching towards them.

"Chris, we've got to go!" Jill pulled him towards the Jeep as Sheva helped Rachel and Quinn into the back seat. They turned to watch as zombies fell from his bullets – nine left, eight left…the walkers were twenty yards away…seven left…Jeffrey was walking a little faster now…Chris was still shooting as he leaned on the passenger door, so Jill shut the driver's side door and pulled on him.

"Come on! You can't get all of them!"

As soon as he was seated, Jill slammed on the gas pedal and did a quick U-turn so they could go back to the White House.

But Jeffrey had another plan for them.

There was a loud thump and Jill swore loudly – Jeffrey had jumped onto the hood of the car and was holding on with some incalculable strength as he slowly pulled his body closer to the windshield. Jill swerved and nearly ran off the curb as she tried to shake him off.

"I can't see a thing!" she shouted, jerking the wheel to steer the Jeep away from a garbage can. Jeffrey grabbed onto one of the windshield wipers and pulled it off. He began beating at the glass ferociously, letting out a high-pitched screech as he did so. Quinn grabbed Rachel's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered.

"Shoot him!" Chris bellowed as the Jeep sideswiped a parked car and he nearly fell into Jill's lap.

Quinn felt Sheva shift as she drew her handgun. Leaning forward, she buried a bullet into each of Jeffrey's hands, shattering the glass in the windshield. He let out an eerie cry, lost his grip on the windshield wiper, and rolled off the hood, but caught himself in time and clung to the left side mirror. Chris beat the rest of the window glass out with the butt of his gun so they could see as Jill made a quick turn down a side street. Jeffrey went flying with a screech and landed on the pavement awkwardly with limbs askew.

They all turned to see if he would get up, with the vehicle flying down the street at about 50 miles per hour. He looked still…but…

"Look out!" Chris said, pointing forward at the wall they were about to crash into. Jill slammed on the brakes, but not quickly enough to stop the Jeep from colliding into cement. She and Chris were both thrown forward against the dash, and Sheva collided with the back of the driver's seat. Quinn turned her shoulder just quickly enough so that her face didn't collide with the back of Chris's headrest, but the impact was enough to take her breath away. Rachel pitched forward into the front of the vehicle, but landed on a relatively soft backpack. The motor sputtered and died, and they were left sitting silently in the middle of the street.

"Fuck," Jill said, jumping out of the Jeep to check under the now-smoking hood. Chris seemed to be holding his left arm at an awkward angle as he got out to join her.

"Let's get out," Sheva said quietly, her gun still drawn as they stepped onto the eerily quiet street. "All that racket has no doubt attracted quite a few of the zombies."

Jeffrey's zombified body was lying about 60 yards away. To Quinn's surprise, Rachel pulled out her rifle and aimed it down the street at him.

"Yeah, he's still moving," she said, biting her lip as she lowered her gun. "I could see it through the scope. Maybe he's just getting his strength back…or…can zombies get knocked out?"

Quinn shrugged. "Probably…"

"I can't believe I trusted him." Chris dropped his backpack and shook his head, still holding his left arm at an odd angle. "Josh was right. He made that cure wrong, and now we have some überzombie to deal with." He kicked the pack in frustration. "Damn it!"

"Still, I don't think he really meant harm. Do you?" asked Sheva.

Chris sighed. "No…no. I don't. I just think he was too damn egotistical and thought he had all the answers. He wanted to try this thing because he wanted to be the hero. And now he's a drugged-up zombie. We can kill him…we'll have to. But then we're back to square one. I just hope Josh has some better solution out there…"

"I don't think this Jeep is going to move," Jill said as she shut the hood. "How far are we from the White House?

Chris grimaced. "Probably about a mile. Is everyone okay?"

Rachel and Quinn nodded.

"I've got a headache," said Jill with a shrug. "Think I hit the wheel, maybe . Sheva?"

"Might have bruised my collarbone so I'm going to be a bit sore for a bit…"

"And my shoulder feels like it's on fire, so I'm not going to be any good if we are trying to run and we encounter Jeffrey again," Chris said with a grunt as he knelt to pull a bandage from his backpack. "He'll be getting up any time and we'll need to make a move." He stood, winding the bandage around his shoulder to act as a sling.

"That move needs to be fast," Sheva said, pointing. A group of walkers was milling around the street entrance, where Jeffrey was slowly getting to his feet. Even at a distance, they could see the strange fire in his eyes. They all backed up and crouched next to the Jeep, with Quinn's arm around Rachel as they knelt with guns drawn.

But he didn't come towards them. Not immediately. Instead, he lunged forward and attacked one of the other zombies. The rest of the small horde stopped and watched as he sank his teeth into his victim's shoulder. That zombie screamed and fell to the ground. Jeffrey stood and watched. The others backed away a little bit, looking confused that one of their own would attack.

"What the fuck?" Chris muttered.

But the fallen zombie didn't stay down for long. Within a minute, it was up, looking more agile and in control of its body.

Just like Jeffrey had.

He was spreading the now-mutated virus. And as the new super-zombie began attacking its companions to do the same, Quinn felt her heart constrict and her breathing quicken.

"Leave the car and let's go," Chris said. "Fucking fast."


	10. Chapter 10

Five sets of feet pounded the pavement, rounding a corner and sprinting away from where Jeffrey might have just started breeding a zombie army. The sun would provide enough light for them to get away, but it wouldn't be out for long.

Rachel's hand stayed glued to Quinn's as they followed Chris, who was running with only one arm pumping – his left shoulder was down, and he was keeping his injured arm close to his body. Jill was in the back of the group, almost speed walking. Sheva had an arm around her partner's shoulder, pulling her along.

Chris paused at the end of one street and pulled his radio off his belt.

"Trayvon," he said breathlessly as the women came up behind him. Jill had her eyes closed and her head on Sheva's shoulder.

The speaker crackled. "Yeah, man, I'm here. Are you okay?"

They were still walking at a quick pace. "We're going to be fine," Chris said. "The medicine didn't work. It did the opposite of what we wanted. Jeffrey has turned into some sort of mecha-zombie and is running around biting other zombies. I don't know if they can think or plan or what. You just need to be extra vigilant. Kill them on sight."

"Copy that," Trayvon said. "What's your location?"

"About a mile out. We wrecked the Jeep, so we're on foot. No idea where the zombies are…"

"Hold on. Let me track your location so we can get to you."

"No," Chris said. "It will be dark soon. We need to hole up for the night and rest."

"I don't like that idea," Jenna's voice said. "We're Secret Service. We can pull you out."

"It's too risky!" Sheva called. "Jill and Chris are hurting. They can't run if something goes wrong. We appreciate it, but we need to lay low."

Trayvon sighed and paused for a moment. Quinn could hear him breathing through the radio static."

"You need somewhere where you can get up to a higher floor. I think there is a fire house nearby. If you can get in, you can go up the pole and hide out up there. The zombies won't be able to get up there."

"So we hope," Chris said darkly.

"Right. You're close. Head there. We're not going to be able to cover you at this distance. We'll look out for the zombies. Be safe. Take care of our girls."

"Thank you." The radio went silent. Chris sighed, slumping for a minute with his head down.

Then, he looked up at them.

"Come on. Let's get to the fire house."

The Washington DC Fire Department was on U Street, almost a straight shot north from the White House. They approached it cautiously. Quinn remembered Santana telling her that the second floor had just been built: even as technology advanced, sometimes something as simple as a sliding pole could help. After the economy got better, fire and police departments could finally afford to have a large task force again, and the downtown DC branch grew and grew.

The brick courtyard outside had been overrun with weeds, and someone had completely wrecked the Pepsi machine – most likely to try and get the money. Quinn looked longingly at the machine. In simpler times, she would insert a handful of coins and press a button and receive a cool, refreshing diet soda. But she hadn't used anything with her money in months, and hadn't had many sodas since then. The caffeine jolted her awake, but it made her mouth dry. And when they were living sparsely in Santana and Brittany's apartment, they often didn't know when they would be in danger of running low on water.

She knew Rachel missed her morning coffee, and the pretty brunette was also looking wistfully at the empty machine.

"Baby?"

Quinn looked down. "Yeah?"

"When all of this is over, can we find a Starbucks?"

It was such a simple thought, such a sad thought, that the blonde had to bite her lip to keep from tearing up.

"Of course we can."

Rachel smiled. It was a small one, but it was nevertheless a smile.

The glass of the garage door had been boarded up, but that didn't deter Chris. He crouched and pulled at it with his right hand.

"I don't think this is on very well. It's not like zombies can pull doors up."

"Hey, move over," Sheva said, as Jill sat on the curb with her head in her hands. "I have two good arms!"

Chris agreed, but he still pulled at the door with his good arm. The door creaked and slowly opened, revealing two dusty red fire trucks and a lot of equipment.

"Hurry up, let's get in. Fucking gears are rusted so we don't want any unwelcome attention."

The setting sun cast shadows around the garage, and the still quiet of the station made Quinn on edge. She thought she heard something moving, but attributed it to her nerves as she forced herself to breathe.

Rachel didn't seem to have this sixth sense.

"Hey, something I can actually do!" She half-sprinted to the fire pole. "I was always good at this in gym class. I'll scout the area." She stopped and saluted.

Chris's almost permanent frown line dissolved, and his lips twitched. "Well," he said, almost laughing, "Go for it. And then you can haul my ass up. But, hey. You need to be careful. Got it?"

Rachel smiled and wrapped her little body around the pole. Within seconds, she had disappeared. The others gathered around the hole to the second floor and looked up.

Quinn saw a shadow move and froze.

"Rach?" she called.

But instead of her girlfriend's voice, a metallic click answered her. She heard Rachel scream, and heard a rustle of clothes and a scuff of heavy shoes.

_No._

"Rachel!" she yelled, and grabbed the pole to climb.

"Nobody move!" came a harsh voice. "Don't you dare make a move, or this girl gets it!"


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Sorry to keep you in suspense. Thanks for keeping up!

Quinn's hand was still glued to the pole, her head tilted up, trying desperately to stare into the darkness of the second floor. She could hear Rachel's frightened breathing, and imagined her girl being held around the neck by some masked man with a gun.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the man barked. "Speak quickly, or this girl's not going to see the light of day again!"

"Hey, we're not here to take anything from you!" Sheva moved next to Quinn and shouted up. "We need shelter for a little while. We're trying to make it back to the White House, but a few of us are injured."

"Ha! Holed up in the White House, huh? What a sad story. Bet you're all starving, right?"

Another man's voice came from upstairs. "Al, come on! Let her go, they're just trying to make it back."

"Yeah, and they're probably running from the undead," Al said. "For all we know, there are a hundred at our fucking door. Letting people in here is the whole reason it's just you and me left, Mike."

Quinn gritted her teeth. How were they going to get Rachel out of there? Chris looked like he wanted to go on up there and get Rachel, but he stood still. Quinn figured he was hesitant to do anything with his injury.

"If there are only two of you, you're in a tight spot," Sheva snarled. "You don't know how many of us there are. If you hurt Rachel, we're coming up after you. All of us."

There was a pause.

"I promise, we're not going to take anything from you," she continued. "The zombies weren't anywhere near us when we got here. We just need to regroup and we'll be out of your way."

"Come on, Al," said Mike gently. "Maybe we can trust these people. And I certainly don't want to get shot."

"You mean shot _again_ because you trusted some complete strangers, right?"

There was a pause.

"We're not going to stay here forever. We need to know what's going on. And look at this girl, Al. She's scared to death. You'd hold a girl hostage who might be the same age as your daughter? What the hell has happened to you?"

"Fuck!" Al screamed, and Quinn could hear him stomp across the floor and kick a wall. She leaned over and squeezed Sheva's right shoulder.

"Thank you," she mouthed. The older woman nodded grimly.

A few seconds later, a rope ladder appeared. Rachel hurried down it and ran into Quinn's arms, shaking.

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay," Quinn murmured in her ear. Rachel gripped her shirt tight, trembling as Quinn stroked her hair.

Sheva and Jill had their guns pointed up to the second level.

"You can come up," the man named Mike said. "You're not going to get hurt."

Quinn would have held Rachel's hand if she could, but the ladder was flimsy and twisted a bit with their weight. Chris somehow made it up with one arm.

They stood in what looked like a cafeteria. A middle-aged man with thick silver hair sat in a swivel chair. He pushed himself over to them with a slight grimace. A shotgun sat on his lap.

"Captain Mike Fratello, DC Fire Department." He nodded to them, his hands folded on his lap. His legs were set at an odd angle. "I'm sorry about my friend Al. He is wary of strangers now. You startled him, and he felt the need to defend himself. You are not the first people to come here looking for shelter."

He placed the butt of the shotgun on the floor and used it to steer himself over to a long table. He beckoned them to sit. Quinn hadn't yet realized how exhausted she was, but her legs groaned in protest as she collapsed into a chair. The large kitchen windows were open, letting a slight breeze into the otherwise stuffy fire house.

"Thank you," Rachel said to the captain. He smiled thinly and continued his story.

"One group of young people showed up asking for help. We had a few more men at that time. We let them in and fed them for a few days while one of their injured friends recovered. But one night, they tried to steal the weapons we had. We were taken by surprise when they raided our bunks. They shot and killed one of our captains."

He shifted a little and tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. "We chased them down the pole and outside. Some of the zombies had followed the noise and were waiting by the door. We didn't have any weapons on us so we had to use what we had in the garage. Two of our men ran, and we don't know where they are. One was attacked. Al and I were fighting a zombie off with brooms and one of the teenagers shot at us, trying to kill it. He got me in the back."

Mike sighed and looked back at the group. "I can't use my legs any more. Al killed the zombie we had been fighting and dragged me back into the garage. He shut the door and told me the teenagers ran off somewhere. The zombies grew too many. Some tried to get in, but the door is too strong. We've been here alone since."

"Tell me where you are from," Mike said. "But first, you must be hungry. I will give to you what I can from our stores for now while we talk." He pushed away from the wall over to the kitchen area. "The area is ventilated enough that we can start a small fire in here..."

He dumped coals into a small grill on the counter and lit it. Quinn could smell the He turned with a slight grin. "We don't recommend anyone lighting grills in their home, but this is a bit of an unusual circumstance."

The captain reached into a cupboard and pulled out a bottle of water, which he dumped into a small pot and set on top of the flames. He pushed himself over to another cupboard and pulled a few more things out, piling them on his lap.

"We eat a lot of crackers and canned tuna around here," he said. "A lot of soup, too. And beef jerky. And peanuts. It's just Al and me, so we still have quite a bit of food left from when we stocked up at the beginning of the summer."

He steered himself back over to the table and put the food in the middle. "Go ahead. I'm making tea."

Quinn grabbed a package of peanut butter crackers, tore it open. She offered Rachel one and the brunette gladly took it. She looked around at the group. Sheva was rubbing Jill's back as the blonde laid her head on the table. Chris was opening a stick of beef jerky with his teeth. Quinn could tell his left arm was hurting him.

Rachel wasn't shaking any more, but Quinn knew she was still afraid. "It's okay, baby," she said quietly, squeezing the brunette's hand. Rachel smiled slightly and set her head on Quinn's shoulder.

The captain was pouring tea into Styrofoam cups on a tray.

"You need help?" Chris asked through a mouthful of jerky.

Mike shook his head as he carefully propelled himself to the table. He set the tray down and pulled something out of his pocket.

"A little brandy is going to help with whatever aches and pains you've got," he said as he splashed some alcohol in every cup. "I've got water, too. And some warm pop and Gatorade. But tea is good for you. There's some honey and lemon in there, too."

Chris passed around the cups. Quinn took a tentative sip of the tea, and found its warmth comforting. Jill had her head up slightly and was taking small sips. The captain nodded in her direction. "You all right?"

Jill grimaced. "I don't know. I've got a pretty nasty headache."

He sighed. "Probably a concussion. How about you?" he asked Chris.

Chris shrugged. "Probably fractured something, to be honest." He snorted. "Kind of my mess in the first place, so I probably deserve a fracture."

"What the hell happened?" said the captain. "What are you doing out here?"

Chris looked around the table and got all shrugs.

"You're our leader, Chris. That means you are the storyteller," said Sheva with a smirk.

He grinned and shook his head.

"Ah…where to start?"

He introduced his companions, and started in on the story. How the BSAA got involved in DC, where they were staying. Meeting Jeffrey and learning about the proposed cure. Rescuing the Ohio girls from the street. Josh, Brittany and Santana leaving. And the ordeal they had just been through when the cure didn't work.

The captain stayed silent, almost motionless through Chris's whole story. He sat back for a moment, staring at Chris with an unreadable expression. Then, he let out a whoosh of air.

"Damn."

"Yeah." Chris looked down in his lap, brow furrowed. "I don't…man, I don't know what the hell to do. I had a lot of hope in that young scientist. I had a lot of hope in that cure. I shouldn't have let him do it, though. I should have waited."

"For what?" Mike asked. Chris looked up, still scowling seriously. "You didn't have any other options. You trusted a man who had knowledge far beyond your own. You were trying to protect people, Mr. Redfield. You did what you thought was right." Mike took a long gulp of tea. "Plus, if you didn't oversee this scientist Jeffrey and his experiment, he would have done it himself. I have no doubt about that. And these überzombies would be running around unchecked. Who knows when you would have found out about them? You did what I think was right, and what these people thought was right. That's what you need to keep in your head."

Quinn was watching Chris, and could have sworn she saw something relax in his stoic face. That was something he needed to hear. It wasn't his fault. The rest of them would have done the same thing – stay and hope for the cure to work rather than leave with Josh. This wasn't Chris's fault. Nothing was anyone's fault right now.

The captain leaned forward. "So what are you going to do now? What is the Secret Service doing?"

"I've been thinking about it, just a bit," Chris replied. "We talked with the Service earlier, and they can maybe pick off a few of the zombies at a distance. There aren't a lot of the walkers yet. But we need to get at them now, before that army grows."

"And you think it will?"

"Yes. We need to just get back to the White House somehow. It's safe there. We have some weapons. We can stay behind the electric fence if the power keeps on and we can fight them from there. But the Service can't come get us. It would take too many. If something went wrong, it would be hopeless for us. So…we just have to make our way back over the roofs."

"When?" captain Fratello asked. Chris hesitated. Jill spoke up.

"Tomorrow."

They all looked over at her. She lifted her head, her eyelids heavy. "We need to start back tomorrow. It's a mile away, but if we get blocked our detoured we could be out for days. We've got to fight them off. We need to get to the communications station and let people in the outside world know what we have seen firsthand. We need to go."

"Will you be able to travel?" Sheva brushed back Jill's hair and looked into her eyes.

Jill nodded, slowly. "I'll be fine. I just need plenty of sleep tonight. I don't know how long we'll be out there."

"You won't be out there very long," Mike spoke up.

Jill frowned. "Look, I know some of us are hurt, but we're still trained fighters – "

"No," he continued. "I can help you take these guys down. I'm useless in hand-to-hand combat now, but I can still help.

"Chris," he said. "You can drive a truck?"

"Uh…yeah."

"Good. If you'll help me with the extra gallons of water downstairs, we'll fill the tanker truck. And then we can get back to the White House. And I'll use every ounce of water and every bit of accuracy I've got to mow those fuckers down." He now had a glint in his eye. "If I use a cane to push the pedals, I can steer in a pinch. And I will run every one of them over on my way back here after I take you back."

"You'd really help us?"

"Honestly? I think you're our last hope. You can protect what's left of the city if we take down as many as we can right now. No more waiting for help. No more trusting whoever is 'in charge.' We need to act now, and I think you're the people who can lead those of us willing to help you into battle." He rolled backwards. "I'm going to my room for a minute. I'll leave you to discuss."

And he was off down the hall, leaving them all with a lot to think about.


	12. Chapter 12

All Quinn could hear was static from the radio. Chris had just relayed recent events to Trayvon and Jenna back at the White House. The two Secret Service agents were quiet through the whole story, and now were apparently thinking over the new plan: take the fire department's pumper truck back to base and take out any zombies along the way with its water spray.

It was risky, sure. They would probably attract a crowd of infected with the rumbling engine. But it was safer and quicker than moving over the rooftops and risking injury or a zombie ambush. They couldn't waste any time.

"We're in no position to tell you what to do, Chris," said Jenna. "You need to do what you can to get back here safely."

"It's going to be risky," Chris said. "Either we park the truck outside the gate and try to run in, or we drive it in and risk them following us in. We'll need some people on the ground."

"Tomorrow morning? We can cover you," Trayvon said, sounding calm. "We have enough to cover the roof and the front gate in a pinch."

"Seriously, these things are tough," said Sheva.

"Well, I expect you to be shooting too, then," Trayvon quipped. "You'll make it. We need you to." He lowered his voice. "We shared what's going on with the president's family and the rest of the crew. They're worried about you, and they're all running scared. I don't think the president sleeps any more. He's on the roof in a shirt and slacks almost all the time, watching for these things."

"Have you seen any?" Chris said darkly.

"Yeah. Not too close, though. I think we're far enough from the street that they can't smell us. But we're watching them from afar. They seem to be creating more and more überzombies by the hour." He paused. "There may be under a hundred, but that's still way too many. They're fast. They're carrying pipes and seem to be functioning on some higher brain level."

Chris muttered a curse.

"And, hey." Trayvon continued. "I think…we think the virus has changed Jeffrey somehow."

"How so?" Chris asked sharply.

"I don't know exactly how. But he's bigger than all the other zombies. He's stronger. There are these weird, pulsating things on his shoulders and back."

Jenna piped in. "I think all the time he spent around the virus must have made his condition worse. He's going to be a handful if you encounter him."

"Well, we have to take him out," Chris said forcefully. "We'll see you tomorrow, then."

If the Service agents were surprised by his sudden goodbye, they didn't show it.

"All right. Be careful out there."

"We'll be in touch," he said grimly, cutting off the radio.

If Quinn was in his shoes, the first thing she would want to do is put her head in her hands and sit in a moment of quiet. But Chris Redfield had seen too much to afford himself that luxury.

He didn't have time, anyhow, as a figure appeared in the doorway.

"That's a great plan, really folks," said a harsh male voice. They all whipped around. Quinn felt Rachel recoil as they stared into the weather-beaten face of Al the firefighter.

His thick blonde hair was tangled, his brown eyes clouded. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a pistol in the other.

Quinn instinctively dropped to the ground in a crouch, her hand on the Glock at her side. Al smirked.

"Don't worry, pretty girl. I'm not here for your little brunette. I'm here to talk some fucking sense into you!" He shouted this last sentence. Quinn wondered if Captain Mike heard him. But he could be way down the hall, already in bed. How long would it take for him to find his way to them? Could he even talk sense into his crazed friend?

Al was swaying slightly as he stood, ten yards from them. It had only been an hour or so since they had been sitting here, but judging by the empty space in the whiskey bottle, Al had been drinking heavily.

"I don't see how you can come in here, eat our food, and think you can take our truck," Al hissed as he took a step towards them. "This is all we have. We are ALL that's left! We were sworn to protect this city and now YOU come in with your guns and your big plans to run back to the safety of your White House. You're going to take everything we have left."

"We talked it over with Captain Fratello," Chris said guardedly. His good hand rested on his gun, as well. "You are more than welcome to come with us. We need all the fighters we can get. You know this city well."

Al laughed as he took another few steps. "I knew what this city WAS! It has been overrun. No one has the capability to fight these undead. They're vicious. And now YOU have unleashed a new evil on the city. Your fortress isn't going to last you long enough. You can't mount an attack on them."

"You're underestimating us," Jill said hotly. Quinn glanced back. The older woman looked a bit better. Maybe it was the tea and liquor. Or maybe she was just pissed.

"I'm telling the fucking truth," Al spat. "The cops are gone. The military won't come help. I hear the president is basically at a loss and is letting the Secret Service dictate operations. No one can do this. I thought we could…but I was wrong…" He swung the gun up, and Chris, Jill, Sheva and Quinn all brought theirs up simultaneously. But he wasn't pointing it at them. He held it to his own temple, shaking as the bottle of whiskey dropped to the floor.

"I lost my station partner," he said. "Lost my family. I don't know where my wife and daughter are. I thought we were the city's last hope. But when we let the last group of strangers in, we lost the rest of our men. The captain is injured. And we still don't know what to do." His eyes moved to fix on each one of them. Quinn heard the rolling of Captain Fratello's chair in the hall behind him.

"Mike, don't even try to stop me!" Al roared. "You know it's hopeless. I can't do anything about this. I've failed in my mission and so have you!" The captain appeared in the hallway behind them, his face drained of blood.

"Al…come on…"

"NO!" The blonde-haired man whipped around to face his captain. "There's no hope left, Mike! NONE! These people may think so, but they're just going to meet their deaths out there. Our equipment isn't built for these fucking things out on the street. You're a damn fool if you think you're going to make it…no one else has made it…" His finger trembled on the trigger.

The chair behind Quinn moved, and she watched in awe as Rachel got up and faced the firefighter.

"Al…um…" he whipped around, eyes widening as he stared at her.

Rachel slowly approached him. The firefighter had tears streaming down his face now as a shaking hand held the Glock to his temple.

"Um...hey. I know you've had bad luck so far. We all have. We've all been hurt by this apocalypse… but we need to keep fighting. These people with me are some of the best experts on catastrophes like this. I promise. They'll keep us safe."

She was 10 feet from him now. Quinn could see her girlfriend shaking – or was that her own trembling causing everything to move?

"We had other friends with us, but they left. They didn't trust our plan with the cure," she said. "I miss them terribly. But I know we need to keep fighting. We need to get back to the White House. There are weapons there, and food. The Secret Service have been watching us and keeping us safe. With the five of us back there, and the two of you, we'll be all right. I know it. I _have_ to believe that."

She shook her head. "Quinn and I are from Ohio. We just finished college when this happened." She turned to look back at her girlfriend, and smiled. "I was hoping we could get married," she said quietly. "Before I chased my dreams of being on Broadway. I've wanted to be a star since I was a little girl. But that girl makes me feel more like a star than any audience ever could. If she wasn't with me right now, I don't know what I'd do."

Quinn felt tears prick her eyes. Getting married. Such a wonderful thing, the thought. Sure, they had mentioned it. But she never knew Rachel was so looking forward to it.

If – no, _when_ – they got out of this, Quinn was going to buy the prettiest engagement ring she could find.

The crying firefighter was watching Rachel closely as she turned back around.

"I know you're scared, Al. I know you're upset. But please, don't shoot. I think you have some fight left in you. Don't you?"

He slowly pulled the gun away. Rachel was now inches from his face.

"Fight for your daughter and your wife, okay? You have to believe they're out there. That they're okay."

He was sobbing by now, and Rachel closed the distance swiftly and wrapped the much-larger man in a tight hug. He pulled back at first, but then returned it, squeezing her tightly as his body shook with sobs.

The gun clattered to the floor.

Quinn and the BSAA soldiers let out a collective whoosh of air as they all stood and joined Rachel in surrounding Al with support. Captain Fratello had tears in his eyes, too.

They didn't sleep much that night.

In one of the bunks, between whispered "I love yous" and slightly louder moans as they desperately tried to show their passion and erase their fear, Rachel and Quinn spent the night wrapped up in each other.

They finally fell asleep, a tangled, sweaty mess, hours later.

Jill and Sheva were their own brand of tangled, sweaty mess when they emerged from the room next door to wake the younger couple in the early hours of the morning.

Quinn silently pulled her clothes back on, made sure her weapons were where she could reach them. Rachel did the same just as quietly, but making sure she was as close to touching Quinn as possible with every move she made. They slid back on the BSAA-issued pants, vests, boots and shirts, and tucked their hair in their caps.

Al looked harrowed and grim as the team sat down to a light breakfast, but had a ghost of a smile as Rachel sat next to him and nudged his shoulder. He looked better than he had last night when they went to bed. Bound and determined, now, to go out and fight.

Breakfast was tea, crackers, and lots of water. They ate in silence. Mike was in the typical fireman's suspenders, boots and jacket as he wheeled around the kitchen. He even had his helmet on.

Chris had helped Al and Mike dump water into the tanker truck overnight. Somehow, the three of them had got it all done. Chris was to ride with the two other men in the front of the truck. Jill, Sheva, Quinn and Rachel would be sitting on the back, making sure no zombies got too close.

The plan was to race to the White House and then use the water to blow away any zombies who were on their trail.

Quinn hoped the plan would stick.

After breakfast, they all descended the rope ladder to the truck. Mike left his rolling chair in the kitchen, and allowed Al to carry him on his back down the ladder. He kept his shotgun and grabbed an axe from the garage.

"Feel free to take jackets and helmets," he called as Al lifted him into the truck. "They might help you out!"

Quinn tentatively lifted a helmet off of the rack in the garage and slid it on after taking off the BSAA hat. It was a bit wobbly, but she could still see everything around her. There was a pile of jackets, and she sifted through them to find a lightweight one that would still provide some protection from zombie hands.

She helped Rachel into a thicker jacket that was altogether too big for her, and helped her girl clip an axe to the belt.

"I'm ready!" Rachel said, forcing a grin as she looked up at Quinn through her helmet. The brunette had also donned some heavy gloves.

Quinn couldn't help but smile.

But the smile faded as she hoisted herself onto the back of the truck.

They were heading into battle.

The truck started with a roar. Even with the sirens off, it was still going to make way too much noise in the abandoned city. Al hopped out of the truck to lift the garage door. The morning sun filtered in, and Quinn squinted momentarily at its brightness.

The street was empty.

Chris piloted the tanker truck out and began rolling towards the White House.

"We're on our way," he said into the walkie-talkie.

Rachel squeezed Quinn's hand.


	13. Chapter 13

Hey folks, thanks for bearing with me. It's been a big week for both of our fandoms! The new "Resident Evil" game, which I've been playing, and then a crazy episode of "Glee!" Come drown yourself in fanfiction!

* * *

><p>Chris Redfield had been on many dangerous missions in his life. But he somehow felt, at the age of 43, he was getting…<em>old<em>.

This – this driving a fire truck into the streets of Washington, D.C., didn't feel like any of the other bioterrorism missions he had been in. There wasn't the same sense of duty and purpose. Just an understanding of how their hope for getting rid of the virus had dissipated, and how in over their heads they might be.

He trusted his team, of course. Trusted the folks at the White House. Trusted Rachel and Quinn, too. Even trusted the firemen who sat beside him. But he didn't know if he trusted himself anymore, his own leadership. Was he losing his touch? Was his judgment getting clouded?

He'd made mistakes before, sure. Drinking his problems away four years ago after a mission gone poorly was one of them. But this seemed like an awfully big error: a bunch of mutant zombies running around because he trusted the judgment of a young scientist.

Still, somehow, the others trusted him.

The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life.

"Chris, we've got you in our sights," said Trayvon. "There's a pile of cars father down M Street, so you need to cut over on 20th."

Chris pulled the radio off his belt as he steered the truck around a pile of rubble one-handed.

"Copy," he said. "What's your visual on the walkers?"

Trayvon sighed in a whoosh of air. "Maybe a hundred between you and the White House. I'm sure you can outpace them."

"How many of the übers?"

"Thirty or more. They seem to be making their way to us. You need to get here, and quickly."

"Copy. Over and out." Chris stepped on the pedal, and the engine roared a little louder.

Behind him, Quinn and Rachel held tightly to their guns. The overlarge fire helmets were rattling around on their heads as they looked around at the barren city. Jill and Sheva weren't holding on to their weapons quite as tightly, but they were still looking just as cautious as the truck moved forward.

Chris felt a surge of pride in the little team. And a strong need to protect the young Ohioans who were so scared, yet so ready to fight the zombies. They were so young, so inexperienced in the field of battle.

They would be okay. They'd survive. He had to make sure of that.

Suddenly, he thought of Josh, his brother in combat. And Brittany and Santana, who had so willingly gone with him. Where were they? Were they okay?

He missed Josh. Not only because the older man was more experienced, but because he had a way of making Chris crack a smile when things got rough.

Well, most of the time.

Not when he stormed off to God knows where.

But Josh was a good soldier and a good friend. Chris might never say it out loud, but he missed his friend. And he worried about him. Somehow, though, he knew that Josh was keeping the two young women safe. Maybe he had found help? Maybe he was out looking for a solution?

There was no room to worry or wonder about Josh now. A few zombies were showing up, now, but by the time they started following the truck it had passed them. The women in the back were ignoring them, which was good. Gunshots would only attract more zombies.

They were within a quarter mile when they spotted the first super-zombie. Jill gave a shout as she opened fire on the undead woman in a tattered business suit.

The zombie was quick, running with a slant as if she was trying to avoid being an easy target. The eerie screams she was letting out put his hair on end. Chris picked up speed as Jill buried bullets into the decrepit body.

By the time the zombie was down, three more were running at the truck. Chris saw four guns raise to take them down as he carefully turned onto State Place.

They were two blocks from the main gate of the White House, and the number of überzombies was increasing. Trayvon called the walkie-talkie to let Chris know the Secret Service were trying to take them out and clear a path. Captain Fratello was leaning out the passenger side window and blasting away with a shotgun.

Chris saw the mass of überzombies gathered in front of the White House and allowed himself to feel a little trepidation. They appeared to be banging at the gate with pipes, wooden planks and other debris in an attempt to get in. At first glance, he estimated there were fifty of them.

"Park the truck!" Al hollered, and Chris stopped it along the loop with a jolt, about two hundred yards from the gate. Some of the zombies at the gate turned their attention to the truck and began towards it.

Chris hustled out of the truck and grabbed the heavy hose with his uninjured arm as Al wrapped strong arms around Mike and hauled him out of the truck. Quinn and Rachel pulled the injured captain on top of the truck to help them hold off the zombies who were still approaching from behind.

The Service snipers managed to fell a few of the zombies, but at least ten of them were still charging towards Chris and Al. The fireman turned on the hose and Chris braced himself as highly-pressurized water shot out of the pipe and blew some of the zombies back. The power of the water caused him to lose his balance, and he struggled to right himself as Al ran over to help.

The water wasn't killing the zombies, but it sure was keeping them back. They screamed in anger as they found themselves falling to the pavement again and again. Between the snipers and the five people on top of the truck, the number of zombies was rapidly decreasing.

"Chris!" Jenna shouted over the radio. "I'm opening the gate and we've got a team ready to take on any zombies that come in. You need to get in here!"

"Copy!" He said as he threw the hose down and bolted to the drivers' seat. Al climbed to the top of the truck to join in the shooting. Chris rammed the truck forward as the gate slowly opened. The zombies looked confused for a second at the sudden disappearance of their obstacle. Chris took this opportunity to run a few of them over.

The truck rolled over the White House lawn, and Chris brought it to a stop about halfway between the gate and the front door. He saw movement up ahead as several Secret Service and the president aimed towards the zombies who were now running through the gate.

"Chris, come on!" Jill yelled. He jumped out of the truck and clumsily climbed on top with the rest of them.

The zombies couldn't quite climb, but they were ramming the truck with such force that Chris had to kneel to stay standing. _There has to be an end to them_, he thought as he reloaded his Samurai Edge with some difficulty and continued firing.

The truck was rocking, now, as twenty angry zombies screamed and bashed against it, pushing it with all their supernatural strength.

"They're gonna tip it!" Chris yelled. "Get ready to jump!"

Sure enough, the truck slowly began to tilt over. Rachel was almost white with terror as she struggled to keep her balance.

"Go!" Chris yelled at her. "Get to the door!" She jumped down, and Quinn followed her, running backwards with her gun pointed to protect the frightened brunette.

He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Al had his captain already gathered up in his arms. "We need to jump!" Mike yelled to him over the zombies' cries, and Chris nodded. They all leapt for the ground as the truck came crashing down.

Chris landed, the slight shock jolting his injured left arm. He began sprinting and was ten yards away, following Jill and Sheva, when he heard a shout. Al had slipped and dropped the injured fire captain on the ground. He was struggling to pick the captain up as zombies ran at him.

"Fuck!" Chris cried and turned on his heel. One of the zombies lunged at Al and buried rotten teeth in his arm. The fireman let out a roar of pain and pistol-whipped the zombie with his other hand. IT stumbled and fell back, but another lunged and grabbed him by the neck.

Chris was there to help him, aiming a strong kick to the zombie's head. He buried bullets into the others surrounding them as Al struggled to pick Mike back up.

"Leave me, you asshole!" the captain yelled as Al dropped him again. "I'm not worth it!"

"Fuck you, yes you are!" Al screamed back. "Wrap your arms around my neck! We're going for the door!"

Chris dropped his now-empty handgun and grabbed his shotgun. He couldn't hold it too steady, since one arm was still in a sling, but he successfully blasted away several zombies. Al now had Mike securely latched on to his front, so Chris ran backwards and covered them as the heavily-bleeding Al ran with his captain to the door.

More zombies had come by now, screaming and waving pipes and planks. "Chris!" Mike shouted, holding something out to him. "Blow the truck!"

Chris handed Al the shotgun and accepted the grenade Mike handed to him, yanking the pin with his teeth and chucking it to the truck. What little gasoline must have been left provided quite an impressive explosion, and several zombies were blown to smithereens.

They were at the door by now. Chris yelled for the Secret Service to get inside as they stumbled into the foyer of the White House. President Obama closed the door with a bang and slid a heavy pipe through the handles.

Quinn, Rachel, Jill and Sheva were all catching their breath behind him. Jill was laying on the ground, her elbow covering her eyes. The two firemen were both on the ground, too. Mike was trying to stop the blood flow from Al's arm wound with a piece of his shirt.

The zombies were pounding at the door, and Chris knew it would be only minutes before they broke free.

"We all need to get upstairs," he panted. "Get to higher ground, we can snipe some of them and protect ourselves better." He turned to the president. "Sir. Is there any gasoline or fuel of any kind around here?"

Obama ran a hand through his graying hair. "I think there's some camp fuel in the kitchen." Chris nodded. "Go get it, let's pour it all over the floor down here and light it so they can't get upstairs to us. Okay?" The president took the order without hesitation and jogged off. Chris turned to his team and the few Secret Service next to them. He saw Trayvon and Jenna sprinting down the stairs behind them.

"Hey!" Jenna called. "We've still got people on the roof. What are our next orders?"

The president was back with an armload of Coleman camp fuel cans. Chris nodded to him.

"Get the furniture around this hall and soak it. We'll light it on fire and retreat to the second floor. That'll buy us some time."

"What if we can't kill them all?!" one of the Secret Service asked incredulously.

Chris frowned and turned to him. "We will," he said shortly. "But put out a distress call to anyone who might be able to help. The military, other cities, whatever. We need an escape plan. Can you do that?"

The man started and nodded, running upstairs.

"All right," said Chris. "Let's go."

Just as he grabbed a chair and poured fuel on it, he heard something that made his hair stand straight up.

A scream that they had heard before, out on the streets yesterday.

"Fuck!" he yelled, hauling the soaked chair to the door. He peeked out the peephole in the door, and what he feared was instantly confirmed.

A mutated Jeffrey, now at least ten feet tall and wider than the gate, was at the entrance to the White House lawn. Orangeish pustules throbbed at his shoulders and chest, and his body seemed to be made of wiry black and red muscle fibers. His face was barely recognizable from a distance, but his eyes were glowing an evil red.

Chris glanced back to his team, and their faces told him that they knew what was out there.

"Run!" he said as he grabbed a chair from Quinn and put it against the door. "Run!"


	14. Chapter 14

**TO RECAP:** I know it has been a while. Rachel and Quinn are currently trying to defend the White House with Chris, Sheva and Jill of the Resident Evil world and two DC firefighters named Al and Mike.

Quinn and Santana went off with Josh of the RE franchise, because they had a small disagreement about what to do with the cure that a scientist named Jeffrey created. The cure doesn't work – it actually makes the zombies stronger, faster and harder to kill. It made Jeffrey into some sort of huge monster.

Now, Quinn and Rachel are protecting the President and his family with the help of some Secret Service agents (Jenna and Trayvon) and their friends from RE.

Thanks, friends!

Raggy

* * *

><p>Quinn tore up the stairs behind Chris, feeling the heat from the flaming barricade on her back. Rachel was clutching on to her shirt from behind as smoke began curling upwards toward them. The president jogged next to her, and Quinn once again had to take in just how <em>strange<em> this situation was. Here she was, in the White House, trying desperately to keep zombies out. And the president had just helped set his front hallway on fire to keep them further away.

If she hadn't been in this hell for three months, she would think it was some kind of dream.

She peeled off her fire helmet and let it clatter to the floor, her dirty blonde hair swinging free as they ran.

They were on the State Floor now. Trayvon and Jenna, the two Secret Service agents whom Quinn had befriended, were running around calling for their colleagues to help.

"Get people off the roof!" Trayvon was yelling into a radio. "Get up higher!"

"Chris, where are we going?" asked a panting Al, who was carrying Mike up the stairs on his back with some difficulty. The zombie bite on his arm looked nasty, but the bleeding had stopped after the fireman had applied a bandage.

"We need to get to the third floor, at least," Chris hollered over the noise of gunfire from above. "I don't want Jeffrey getting to us without a fight. We can try to pick him off from above!"

"What the hell happened to him?" asked the paralyzed fire captain from his position on Al's back.

Chris shook his head as they reached the third floor. "I think the virus mutated more forcefully in Jeffrey's body because he had been exposed to so much of it in his studies. He must have inadvertently breathed a small amount of it in or something. I don't know."

Secret Service members were already milling around the third floor, scrambling to set up their sniper rifles in the windows and aiming for the rush of überzombies who were rushing to the door. The creatures were screaming in anger that they couldn't get past it. But once they got in, they would have the flaming first floor to deal with.

"That barricade won't last long!" Chris yelled. "We need to make another one! Is everyone down here?!"

"Mr. Redfield!" President Obama jogged down from the fourth floor, his wife and daughters behind him. "There's not going to be any exit if you do that. We have to think of another way. If they get in these top windows, the only way we have to escape is downstairs. And another fire would block all our exits."

Rachel had both of her arms wrapped around Quinn's left arm as they looked down to the mess below them. The monster that had once been Jeffrey was lumbering slowly towards the White House, with a piece of twisted metal from the fire truck in his hands.

"We could jump from the third floor if need be!" Chris was saying behind them.

"Chris, there's no way that would be safe," Sheva said. "Not with your arm injured, with Captain Fratello paralyzed. If we sustain injuries in this fight, jumping is just going to make it worse. We need to think of another way. We have to keep the second floor open."

They heard a roar below them, and all rushed to the window. The giant Jeffrey was pounding at the door angrily with his metal club. Bullets hit his twisted, fibrous skin but they weren't doing any good.

"Aim for those orange pustules!" Chris cried. "And take down those extra zombies!"

But for every zombie that the Secret Service put down, it seemed like two more came in off the streets. The regular zombies couldn't climb the gate, but the quicker, smarter überzombies could. The screaming and pounding, mixed with the gunfire, must have been echoing throughout the entire District of Columbia.

"Chris, what's the fucking plan here?!" yelled Al. Captain Mike was sitting down, leaning against Al's legs and firing shot after shot from a handgun into the zombies.

"Take out as many as you can!" Chris said. He was ripping a piece of his bandage off of his arm with his teeth. "Mr. President! I need another gas can!"

"I stocked some up on the far wall!" the President shouted back. Chris jogged over and stuffed the ripped cloth in the gas can, creating a long fuse.

"Stand back!" he yelled as he lit the cloth and chucked the can out the window in a swift one-armed motion. It hit the ground to the right of the zombie pack, and burst into flame. The undead screamed as the flames licked at their rotting bodies.

The fire also caused Jeffrey to scream in pain, and he jumped back with frightening agility. His glowing red eyes focused in to the third floor and the guns that kept firing at him. With a roar, he picked up his metal club and chucked it up to them.

"Look out!" Chris roared as the twisted scrap came hurtling to the window. It hit with a deafening crash, and glass shards went flying everywhere.

Quinn had thrown Rachel onto the floor behind a bookshelf and covered her with her own body. She heard human screams, as the glass had no doubt buried itself into several victims. She felt Rachel shaking beneath her, and murmured "we're okay baby, we're okay," before rolling over to assess the damage.

The twisted piece of the fire truck was lodged in the back wall, still quivering. Glass littered the floor, and several Secret Service members were moaning as they lay on the floor with the shards in their bodies.

The two fire fighters were huddled together. Al seemed to be shaking his captain, and his frantic calling reached Quinn's ears over the sound of another crash. She grabbed Rachel's hand and, bent over to avoid any debris, ran over to them.

Rachel's grip tightened as they got close to Al and Mike. Tears were leaking out of Al's brown eyes and down his dirtied face as he held Mike's hand. The older fireman's eyes were wide, his lips shaking as he clutched at his stomach. Between his fingers, Quinn could see a six-inch long shard of glass sticking out of his gut, stained dark red with blood.

"Mike…sh…it's okay," Al was saying. "Don't touch it, man, come on. You'll be okay."

Mike nodded, but his face was pale. He was losing blood pretty rapidly, and Quinn was afraid he would lose consciousness soon.

"Chris!" she yelled over the din. "Help! He needs help!"

Chris was at their side in a flash, his gun still in his good hand as he knelt to peer at the wound.

"We need to get the wounded to the side," he yelled hoarsely as another hunk of metal hit the side of the White House. "Keep that piece of glass in his stomach; we don't have the resources to stop the bleeding if we take it out."

"I know," Al said. "We have to keep it from moving, though. The blood will clot around the knife and will keep him alive for a while. I'll be able to patch him up, I think."

Several Secret Service members were carrying their own wounded over to the far wall, away from the staircase and the window.

"We can't let any zombies get in here," Chris said. "Not with this many wounded."

Mike groaned as Al and Quinn slowly picked him up and moved him to the far wall. Chris returned to his one-armed shooting of zombies, and Rachel hovered over the small group of wounded people. Trayvon and Jenna were helping dress one man's gaping leg wound.

Including Mike, there were nine people injured. This left 20 Secret Service and a handful of staff to help take out the zombies around the door.

It wasn't enough.

Quinn had a hand on Mike's shoulder as Al applied pressure to the wound. She could hear the mutated Jeffrey and his zombies still banging at the door.

Chris was back by their sides, with Sheva and Jill right next to him.

"Hey," he said, his voice hoarse. "We need a new plan. That barricade isn't going to hold, and we have too many people down."

Quinn and Rachel stood up.

"Okay, then…what?" she asked.

Chris raised his eyebrows. "We need some of us down there, picking them off one by one."

"What?" Rachel asked. "That…Chris, that's…"

"Dangerous, yeah." he said gruffly. "But we need two teams, and we need to draw them away from the door so we keep our inside people alive. The gate should hold a while; we need to take care of those überzombies and Jeffrey and then worry about the little guys."

Sheva and Jill looked grim, but determined to see the plan through.

"Chris." Quinn said hesitantly. "How are we going to kill him?"

He sighed.

"Well, I'm not sure. But I've fought a lot of B.O.W.s in my life, and a lot of scary fucking monsters. And all of them can go down eventually. Shoot the orange pustules, we'll try to firebomb him with something."

Sheva looked out the gaping hole in the side of the White House.

"Chris, that gate's not going to hold forever. The rest of the zombies are going to break in."

"I know," he said. "I know. We need to take care of Jeffrey first, put him down."

"What if the gate doesn't hold and you get rushed by zombies?" Al asked, not moving from Mike's side as he sopped up the blood with a towel someone had handed him. "You'll need to get back up here."

"Is there a rope or something you can find? Hey," he said, reaching out to grab a Secret Service officer who was passing by. "Do you guys have a rope ladder or something we can have standing by?"

The man frowned a minute.

"It's so we can get back up here if we go down," Chris said urgently.

The man nodded. "Yeah, there's something. We'll find you a way. But are you seriously going in?"

"We need to distract these big fuckers from getting anyone else hurt," said Chris.

"All right. We'll snipe 'em from afar."

"Thanks."

Chris looked to his assembled team. A few other Secret Service were standing with Trayvon and Jenna, loading shotguns and passing around grenades. Rachel, Quinn, Sheva and Jill were looking back at him, with a varied range of emotions.

Rachel looked just a scocshe away from terrified. The young singer had grown tough, but this was a new level of danger for her. Still, she had one hand on her gun – and the other tightly clasped to Quinn, who was perhaps a little farther away from being terrified but still nervous.

Jill and Sheva, of course, were battle-hardened. They were ready. From Albert Wesker to Nemesis and the Tyrants to whatever other ugly zombies and B.O.W.s in their way, they had seen it all.

The Service members nodded, grimly. They knew what to do.

This left Al the fireman, who stood hesitantly.

"Al? We could use you down there," Chris said.

He ran a hand through thick blonde hair and sighed. He looked as if he had aged ten years in the last day.

"I'm worried about Captain," he said.

Mike coughed from his position on the ground, and opened his mouth to say something. But a rumbling explosion went off below them, and they all jumped and whipped around.

"Throw another one!" a tall Secret Service officer yelled, and a woman behind him pitched a grenade. They all flattened themselves against the wall as it detonated.

Al knelt back down. "Cap…hey, man. I don't wanna leave you."

The captain rolled his eyes, trying his best to look cheerful. But his face was so pale, and his eyes so clouded with pain and exhaustion, that he looked more like a ghost than the brave fireman he must have been a few months ago.

"Leave me," he wheezed. "I'll wait for you up here. I can't move, anyway, with these damn legs. They need you down there."

"I…"

"Look," Mike said with a little more conviction, "Maybe one of these folks up here can help me. The bleeding is stopped for now; I can't do much more. You need to go, and hurry up! Knock that fucker out for me, man."

Quinn could have sworn the younger man's blue eyes were wet when he stood back up.

"I'll be back for you, man," he said as another grenade went off.

The gaping hole in the side of the White House beckoned them, now, as their portal from shaky shelter into absolute danger.

The tall man who had ordered the grenade throwing was standing with a rope.

"You ready?" his tone was short, his Middle Eastern accent a little thick, his hands steady, his eyes clear. "I'll watch you from here."

Quinn peered down to see about thirty of the überzombies at the door, next to Jeffrey, still pounding away. The door was most likely very close to caving in. A few of them had died, of course: even if they were some sort of super-evil, they couldn't just survive _grenades_.

But the rest looked as if they had just been thrown back and got right back up again.

"Okay, let's go," Chris yelled over the suddenly amplified noise, before putting his gun in his teeth and securing the rope between his injured arm and his working hand. The wind whipped at his pants and around the cuffs of his sleeves as he stepped onto the ledge. The tall Service officer and two other officers began securing the rope.

Adrenaline was coursing through Quinn's blood. She shrugged off the fireman's jacket she had been wearing this whole time and quickly helped Rachel out of hers.

Some combination of fear and zombies must have been causing the whooshing in her ears, because she all of a sudden couldn't hear anything. No, it wasn't the zombies. It was…louder?

At this very moment, Chris turned. "What the hell _is_ that?" He was yelling, now, as he poked his head out and looked up – and his expression changed from bewilderment to disbelief to absolute joy in a matter of five seconds.

"Hey!" he cried "That's a BSAA bird!"

At once, four helicopters sailed over the smoking White House, two of them dispersing a small shower of grenades into the team of zombies. The other, larger helicopters kept moving forward as the smaller ones with the guns wheeled around and came back to the battle.

Jeffrey, suddenly distracted by these newcomers, quit his incessant pounding and lumbered into the center of the White House Lawn. The zombies, too, suddenly seemed to lose their sense of direction and what to do.

The two smaller choppers – could that be Santana or Brittany behind the controls? – had just dispensed of several zombies outside the gate and were flying right at Jeffrey. The one in front, which was flying lower, peppered him with bullets at close range before veering off to the right and back around the White House. Enraged, Jeffrey picked up the closest zombie he could find and hurled it, by its arm, at the chopper behind it. The driver dodged, barely avoiding a high-speed zombie crashing into the window. The body hit the left side of the chopper and it jolted sideways. Jeffrey lunged to grab it, but could only swipe at the side before it was out of his reach.

They watched, in awe, as the driver peeled around quickly and stopped to hover right in front of where they were standing.

Quinn and Rachel let out strangled cries of joy as they saw Santana and Brittany, beaming, sitting behind a man with floppy, dirty-blonde hair and a black-haired woman with a mildly amused grin.

"Leon! Ada!" Chris yelled. "…what the fuck?"

The man – Leon, his name was – just saluted and peeled off. The other chopper came back around and dropped another few bombs on Jeffrey, as the monster tried in vain to jump and catch it.

Chris whipped around.

"Come on!" he said. "Let's get down there!"


End file.
